The Rider War: Book One-Travel the land of Galbatorix
by Airmage
Summary: Decades have passed since the Fall. The Free Forces are in shambles; Galbatorix has a strong grip on the realm. The peoples of Alagaesia suffer. Hope appears in the forms of two Riders and their Dragons, four of the few ancient survivors. Yet even they must first fight to survive the perils of a changed land before they can even consider uniting the Free Forces. *Editing*
1. After the Dragon War

**Hey guys! So I have another story I should be finishing...but oops.**

 **Anyway, this is the third version of a story I dearly love and should not have deleted. I know better now. I will not let tiny things such as the amount of reviews I get be deciding factors**

 **Anyway, please enjoy!**

* * *

Prologue: End of the Dragon War

In the year 7210 AC (After Creation):

A young elf-child, only ten years of age, sat in his chair by his desk, immersed in his studies. The only light came from the Erisdar hanging above him. His grey eyes quickly, but not without missing a single meaning, flew across the elvin runes of the Ancient Language, the Liduen Kvaedhi. A small slender finger turned the page of the book he was reading, a gift from his parents. Magic radiated from his body, as it was with young elf children.

A quiet knock came at his door. He gently shut his book, and slid off his chair, padding quietly and barefoot towards his door. He opened it, and stared up at a man, an odd entity in the Silverwood Forest. The elf child had not seen many men before, but he heard whispers of a strange ship that had landed far up north years ago. From the ship came creatures that looked very much like elves, but lacked the grace of one and had round ears. Their lives were short, as the elves had been before they were bonded with the dragons. The man in front of the young elf-child looked weary with grey-and-brown hair, but he stood tall, with strong hands clutching a wooden staff. His grey hair reached his shoulders, but his brown eyes remained clear. He wore a worn, grey robe, with a large bag attached to his belt.

The man held up two fingers against his lips. The elf child quickly mimicked him, remembering his manners, "Atra esterní ono thelduin." He greeted the man in a soft, quiet tone.

The response was "Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr." Elf child wondered where the man had learned elvin manners, and whether they were the same as human manners.

"Un du evarínya ono varda," he finished, curious as to whom the man was. He had only heard about humans through tales.

The man didn't hesitate as he fluently spoke the ancient language "My name is Olwen, and I am one who wishes to right a few of the many wrongs that will plague this land."

The elf child stood on the other side of the doorway, perplexed. The confusing, vague lines of his kin had always confused him and he hated how the majority of them insisted on wasteful courtesy. Hearing the human speak this way, it made him wonder if all humans spoke in the style of the elves. Nothing would be so complex if everyone decided to be straightforward. "Why are you here?"

The human Olwen answered. "I have a favor to ask of you. May I come in?"

He stepped aside and allowed the man to enter. Olwen gently closed the door, and asked permission to sit in one of his chairs. The child nodded yes, and took a seat on his bed. He studied him intently, and felt the old eyes return the gaze.

"What is the favor?" the elf child asked, unable to hold off his curiosity any longer.

Olwen said nothing for several moments, but before answering "I must ask you to guard something precious, so that when the time comes, the right people may receive it."

"I'm only a child," he mused "Why me, why not one of the older elves?"

Olwen smiled, "Because a werecat told me that my daughter would birth a line of rulers. By seeking you, a child, a young one who will one day be one of the wisest of the land, and mentor these great sovereigns, I have given you the agathokakological gift of life."

"A-agatho-kak-kako-logical?" the child questioned, having never heard the word before.

But Olwen didn't respond, slowly opening the sack attached to his side, and he pulled out a worn wooden box. He beckoned the elf child to come forth, and Olwen handed it to him. The child opened it, and frowned in confusion.

The first circlet had green, metal leaves and gold stems; he couldn't recognize what tree they had come from. At the back of the crown, where the stems of the last two leaf stems met, was a purple diamond the size of the tip of his thumb. Underneath was a much slimmer circlet of the same style, except the stems were silver. Both were laid on top of black velvet.

"Crowns?" the elf child asked, confused.

Olwen nodded "They come from the original land of the humans, where King Palancar had fled from with his people. The history of the crowns is long and kept in the library in Doru Areaba. No one knows their full history. But my task for you is to guard these crowns, and keep them hidden."

"Why must these crowns be hidden?"

"Placed upon the head of the monarchs they give great power. Placed upon the wrong heads, monarchs or not, will give great sorrow and destruction." Olwen's eyes looked troubled "It is wise to take on the council of a werecat, and it was a werecat who told me to hide away my family's most prized heirlooms."

The elf child gave a sharp gasp; awe striking his features as he recognized who it was that was sitting in his room. Olwen gave him a small smile "I see you know who I am, silver haired child of the House of Thrándurin. Indeed elves start their education at a tender age."

"It's an honor," The child whispered, bowing. Oh, the great deeds he had heard about this man!

"They who can wear these crowns will be the true rulers of the human race. Promise me you will look after them." Olwen gripped the child's right shoulder with a gnarled, yet strong hand.

The elf child closed the lid, and started into the eyes of the old man "I shall, your majesty," he whispered. Olwen smiled once more at him, and stood up, leaving the child all alone in the room to ponder the meaning of his words.

Six hundred and eighty-six years later, that's six hundred and seventy-six years since the elf child had grown and become a Rider, the Dragon war raged across all of Alagaesia. And the Order of the Dragon Riders, the Order that kept the land safe for two thousand years, fell within four years, in the year seven thousand nine hundred, measured and bloody.

* * *

In the year 7900 AC:

The Rider rode away from the burning city, where roars of dragons and screams of people emitted behind him. In the chaos, he knew that he was safe to leave, but he could not take his time. The wounded man in his arms needed healing, and there was always a risk that someone would see them. Ahead of him, the beautiful blue dragon of the wounded man flew quickly, alongside his red dragon. The thunder of the two dragons' wings was masked by the cries of battle behind them.

The body of the man he carried was the body of his brother, who was on the brink of death. But the Rider could not take the risk to stop and heal all his wounds; he did what he could while riding. The man, his brother, in his arms was important to the fate of Alagaesia, and he could not take any chance of getting caught by a traitor, or by a monster.

"You came back," if it wasn't for his sensitive ears, his brother's words would have been lost in the wind and the echoes of the city from behind.

"Shhh, you idiot," the Rider ignored the first question "You complete and utter fool. You know what our masters said! There would be a time for you to fight! And the time is not now you bastard!"

There was a small, weak chuckle. "I don't do well with orders" his brother whispered, a hand clutching the Rider's tunic. "I can ride my dragon."

"I'm not taking a risk," the Rider snapped. Why the hell couldn't his brother understand? He was a stupid, immature…little brother of his; the last of his siblings he loved to survive.

His brother leaned his head against his shoulder "Everyone was there. I thought that I could at least give them a chance to live."

"You did," the Rider muttered, "And you nearly killed yourself. Did you really think that you could take on Galbatorix so early? Now you're…" he voice faltered; he couldn't bring himself to say the next set of words. It hurt too much.

His brother was silent "I know it was stupid, but I felt like I had to try. Something told me that I had to try."

They rode on in silence for hours, heading southwards towards Dras-Leona. The Rider held on tightly to his brother, ignoring the words of his dragon as they echoed in his mind.

 _Do not ignore me, my hatchling,_ his dragon growled softly in his mind. He didn't reply, just letting his emotions pour through their link, so that his dragon could understand what he could not put in words.

He felt his brother chuckling against him a few minutes later. "You know, you can confess that you love me."

"I'm not your damn lover," the Rider snapped, feeling impatient and tired and weary and worried and scared for his little brother. "Just shut-up, we're almost there."

"Where are we going?"

"To that Grey Folk descendant of yours"

"I thought you hated him."

"I thought I told you to shut the hell up. You need your strength."

And they were silent again, until the sun rose from the sky. They were so close to their destination, but he could feel the strength of his dragon draining. The urgency of healing his brother drove them like a slave master, with Time watching callously as it spend onwards, towards his brother's possible death.

"I'll never see again," his brother whispered. The Rider didn't reply, unsure of how to, but the first ray of luck shined upon them when the vast ruins of Edur Ithindra came into view.

The dragons, both of them, landed close to the abandoned, nearly, Elvin outpost. Just as the dragons landed, a short, angry woman with curly brown hair and flashing brown eyes (and a large frying pan in her hand) walked out through the doorway of one of the small houses that surrounded the outpost. The house was, as were the rest of them, in ruins, and looked pitiful next to the tall outpost, whose glory was almost gone.

"You!" she shrieked, her eyes focused on himself and his red dragon, "You traitors! How dare you come back here! After all those you betrayed!"

Her arm was raised, ready to throw the frying pan, when the Rider swiftly got down from his dragon, and revealed the broken body of his brother. The woman froze; her face in shock.

His brother's dragon, with her brilliant blue scales gleaming in the sunlight, turned to face the woman. There were a few, tense minutes of silence. His brother spoke "Is that our lovely aunt? I haven't seen her," his voice wavered, but he continued "in years."

"Come here," the woman spoke quietly. "Tenga will see to you. And _you_ ," she glared at the Rider as she took his brother and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Stay here until I come back out. I'm not finished with you yet."

The Rider nodded, and watched hopelessly as his brother was taken away, dragged by his aunt, a woman who was surprising strong. He let the heavy silence sink in for a few moments. His brother's blue Dragon let out a mournful keen, wailing at her Rider's desperate state.

Gathering up the last of his strength, he turned to the brilliant blue dragon, collapsed in front of her. He laid a trembling hand on her snout, and whispered in the Ancient Language " **Fear not. You know him better than us all. You know that he will survive.** "

The great dragon reared her head, startling the Rider. She let out a loud cry, which he could feel in the earth and the air, scaring any wildlife that was nearby. " _ **I have shared his mind longer than any Dragon shares with their Riders. We are not two minds, but one. Do you know what it's like to lose half of your mind?**_ " Her words bellowed loudly in his head. He winced, and clutched it, but otherwise stayed still. His dragon jumped behind him.

" _ **No, we do not,**_ " He and his dragon spoke at the same time. " _ **But know this; he will not die, and we will abandon neither you nor him again. Both of you have saved our lives, believed in us when all hope was lost. It was that which allowed us to change our names and save you. So we ask you this; do you forgive us enough to let us help you?**_ "

The sapphire dragon did not speak, until ' _ **You are the brother of my little one, and you are my mate**_ _'_ she spoke softly, gently. Her large nose touched the Rider's head, and then she moved her head so that it pressed against his dragon's large, ruby head. ' _ **We are family, and as you have seen the error of your ways, I forgive you. But know that treachery in the future will not be taken kindly to. This is your second chance**_ _.'_

He hesitated, though he knew the answer, ' _ **Does my brother forgive us as well?**_ _'_

The blue dragon gave a snort of surprise; he never referred to his brother as 'brother' before. ' _ **He was never mad at you. He understood. But I must know, are the two of you willing to do anything to cleanse the blood on your hands and claws?**_ _'_

The Rider looked down at his hands, turning them so that he could see his palms. He could see a clear vision of blood appear on them, and slowly drip onto his ground. He hastily shoved them away.

' _ **Anything and everything,**_ _'_ both he and his dragon responded.

The blue dragon stared at him in the eye. _'_ _ **I believe you.**_ _'_

* * *

The silent älfa-kona knelt in a large clearing by a small tree, wishing to get away from the sounds of mourning. Her lover and her father had perished at Ilirea, now Uru'Baen, and her mother's heart had lost all feeling in it. She wept quietly, alone, under the roots of a large tree, where no elf would find her as they were all mourning the loss of their Könungr. Suddenly, she cried, a sharp, keen moan that echoed throughout the forest. Creatures fled at the sound of her mourning, and plants shriveled away from her. Her angst pained her, the loss of her loved one, her beloved, who promised her that he'd return.

Those who heard that cry could never forget it, for it pierced their hearts, it became a part of the song that runs through every Elvin mind for the next few decades. Queen Islanzadi was the first to find the älfa-kona, who was clutching her lower torso, tears streaming down her face. The mother rushed to her daughter, her own sorrow forgotten.

"Arya," the mother cradled her close "Arya." But what words of comfort could a mother give to such loss? Next the brother of Arya, the second child of King Evander and Queen Islanzadi, through the bushes, and was leading a small crowd of elves. He was young, only twenty years of age, and his name was Glenwing. He too ran towards his sister, holding her shoulder, unable to help.

The thundering of ancient wings drew closer, and the golden dragon, the secret of the elves, landed. His Rider carefully slid, and ran as quickly as he could to the trio. "Arya hush," Oromis tried to comfort her "Hush, listen to me. There is still a chance that they survived, there is still a chance that-"But he cut himself off, when he noticed the dark stain growing on the front of Arya's dress.

Islanzadi drew in a sharp breath "She is with child!"

* * *

The Eragon lay on the bed, surrounded by what's left of his once-large family; the man the Rider had once called Father, his eccentric aunt, his brother's dragon's head that fit into the enormous window, and his aunt's newly adopted werecat named Solembum. The Rider, Murtagh, stood in the doorway.

His father, if Murtagh had any right left to call him that, was oddly calm. Yet to the receptive eye, he was still shaking, half-mad with grief. His dragon had died only a few months previous during a major skirmish between the Order and the Forsworn that left the flames underneath the land. "I've gathered what's left of those loyal to the Order, against Galbatorix's reign, and those brave enough to oppose him and his reign. _We will fight back_." Brom's hand grasped that of his unconscious son.

"We cannot let anyone know that Eragon and Saphira survived" Angela said, unusually solemn. "Nor can we let go of the fact that Murtagh and Thorn have returned from the north. It will take time for Eragon to heal, and they need all the time they can get before they are thrust out into war."

' _That is for the best,'_ Saphira's voice echoed wearily through their minds. ' _Murtagh and Thorn will help me guard him, and the Spine will be our home until Eragon has recovered fully.'_

All stay silent for a moment, before Brom let go and abruptly walked towards the door. For a moment he stared at Murtagh, and then left. Angela, in the meantime, was mumbling something in Eragon's ear, before she too left, taking Solembum with her, and giving him a very cross look as she left.

Finally, it was just him and his brother in the room. His brother lay quietly on his bed, his breath shallow, but steady. His entire body was covered in bandages, his form naked under the blanket. Murtagh slowly walked over to him, and knelt by his bedside. "Hey," he whispered softly. He removed a necklace from his pocket, and placed it in his brother's hands. It had a green emerald hanging from a silver chain. "I," he fumbled, cleared his throat, and started again "I asked for our Elders to help. There's only a pair of them left now. Everyone else, except for you two, us, and the traitors, they're all gone." He paused, trying to organize the whirlwind of thoughts that paraded around in his mind. He watched as Eragon's hand tightened against the necklace, and heard his breath hitch in his throat; his brother knew whom it had belonged to "Only three of us and our dragons are left of the Order."

"Arya," he whispered, startling Murtagh, clutching the necklace in his hand "Oh gods, Arya, our child."

"I was not told what happened to them," Murtagh muttered softly in the ancient language. "I was only given the necklace, and I was given a spell that will help your eyes, though they will not thoroughly be healed."

Without waiting for a reply, Murtagh stretched his mind out to Saphira, to Thorn and to the emerald, and began chanting a spell that he was forced to memorize. Eragon began to moan, his hands moving to hold his eyes, only for his older brother to gently grab them and hold them firmly.

Eragon withered beneath him, and Murtagh forced himself not to stop there. It was something he had to do; something he could do to start amending what he had done wrong, to wipe the blood from his hands. It was, surprisingly enough, over in half an hour; Murtagh was expecting much longer. As soon as he let go of Eragon's arms, the younger Rider grabbed the cloth wrapped around his eyes, and pulled it off. Murtagh helped him into a sitting position, and could see a few drops of blood drip onto the blankets, but that was all. His brother blinked a few times, before looking up and facing him.

He gasped. Eragon's eyes, once upon a time brown like the earth, were now multi-colored. Other then the black iris in the center, his brother's eyes were a kaleidoscope of red, green and blue, though the blue shone the most. But they had a slightly distant gaze to them, and Murtagh knew that he could never see clearly as he once had.

Then, even though he was shaking with fatigue, Murtagh knelt before his younger brother, who stared at him with blank eyes. He took a deep breath, an approval from his dragon, and drew out his iridescent, ruby colored sword; Edoc'sil, or Unconquerable. He offered the blade to his brother, and began his vows in the Ancient Language.

" **I, Murtagh Swiftblade, Son of Morzan, Son of Brom and Selena, give up my sword, Edoc'sil, my life, dedicated to the New Order of Dragon Riders, and my loyalty, whom I swore none would have, to you, my younger brother, Eragon Shadeslayer, Slayer of the Shade Marzik, Eldest son of Brom, son of Selena, Successor of Lord Vrael, Dragon Rider of Saphira Brightscales, and Head of the New Order. Until my last dying breath, I will serve you, my Lord, and you, Saphira Brightscales.** "

Eragon's eyes widened in shock, but before anyone could say a word, Thorn spoke. ' _ **And I Thorn Bloodscales, son of Glaedr, accept you, Lord Eragon Shadeslayer, Son of Brom and Selena, and the Dragon Rider of my mate, Saphira Brightscales, as the Head of the new Dragon Rider Order. Until my last dying breath, I will serve you Eragon, brother-of-my-Rider, and you Saphira, my mate.**_ _'_

Together, the red Dragon and Rider said " **Accept our services as your vassals.** " For several moments, no one spoke a word. Murtagh dimly wondered if Eragon would even accept it.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, Eragon grabbed the hilt of Edoc'sil, and rested the tip on Murtagh's head. In a surprisingly steady voice, he replied " **I, Eragon Shadeslayer, Son of Brom and Selena, Slayer of the Shade Marzik, accept your sword, your life, and your loyalty, Murtagh Swiftblade, Son of Brom and Selena. And I accept your pledges, Thorn Bloodscales and Murtagh Swiftblade, to me.** "

Here, Saphira joined her voice as well. " _ **As the Successors of Lord Vrael and Umaroth, Leaders of the New Dragon Riders and their Dragons, and Head and Lead Hunter of the New Order; we accept your services until your last dying breaths or until our regimes end. We accept your duties as our vassals. We will not taint your name and title as long as you fulfill your duties with honor and respect. Rise as our vassals and Elders of the New Order.**_ "

Murtagh rose, and Eragon rose with him, though Murtagh grabbed his shoulders to keep him steady. His younger brother returned his blade by sheathing it in his scabbard, and the two brothers continued to stare at each other, wondering what would change between them, and Alagaesia. When Eragon's eyes watered, Murtagh held him close, something he had not done in centuries.

* * *

In the year 7910 AC/The tenth year of the reign of Galbatorix (10 New Era):

Chains rattled in the room, the only light came from the candles that lined the circular walls, and a few rays that peeped through the bars high above in the wall. But it, which was bound in the room for centuries, could not see, for the eyes of its vessel remained closed. "Stop rattling," its vessel croaked. "It hurts my ears."

"Elder one," a man's voice pleaded like a child's. "Can you tell me the story of the Soothsayer?"

Its story, that _it_ would have a hand to reveal. _"It's not for you to know!"_

A raspy, sharp gasp came as a response. Then all was quiet.

"Elder one," the man asked again. "How long will we be in here?"

It relinquished its control of its host so she could answer freely "Until the foreign queen of this land is freed."

"Who's the queen?"

This conversation, so tiresome to it, had occurred numerous times over the past few years. But maybe the man forgot, or maybe he wanted to forget about his nightmares. "She's of my blood. She will fall in love with a peasant. She will wield the blood sword." Those were the only bits of information soothsayer allowed its host to say. Anymore, and the Thief would hear of it.

"Will she kill us upon our freedom?" the man asked.

"If you wish for it, she will kill you."

" _But she is mine, so she shall not die."_ The Soothsayer suddenly let go of control of its vessel to reply, and attached onto her again just as quickly.

"Soothsayer," this time, the man addressed it. "Will you reveal your form to me? I cannot touch the Elder one like I…seem to desire to."

The idea was appealing, _very_ appealing.

And the man, who was leaning against the wall, hands chained up and feet chained together, watched with eager eyes as a thick, gray mist emerged from his Elder. The mist gathered upward, first into a vague shape of with a head, two arms, and two legs. But part of it still remained in its host.

The soothsayer took control of its host one last time "Your wish is my command, honored seeker. Pray tell, what do you seek now?"

The requests always changed. They went from earthly pleasures, to visions of the past and future. Or, merely to talk of events the soothsayer had witnessed. It would be lying to say that it did not appreciate these forms of contact at all.

"I wish for a woman's company, one to aide my desires."

It pulled out from its host completely, and turned into the shape of a beautiful woman, with black hair and gray skin that mirrored those who first sought her wisdom. But her skin color did not diminish her beauty. "Soothsayer," the man whispered, lust clinging onto his words as a creeper would around a tree. He took in her well-formed body as she stepped into the few rays of light that appeared. And the soothsayer shivered as it, now she, felt chills run up her spine as the man took in her form. His eyes raked over her every curve, and she felt shy, conscious of the minimal clothing she wore; it only covered the privates of a woman, leaving the rest to be exposed.

"Come here," the man's voice was hoarse, and she did as he asked. Upon reaching him, she straddled his gaunt waist, and stared into his broken, insane eyes.

"Help me," he whispered. She smiled, and waving a hand over his cuffed hands, so that they were free. His thin bony hands were placed on either side of her hips, and he pressed his forehead against hers.

"Tell me what ails you," the soothsayer whispered, pressing her new form up against the man. "I am the soothsayer; tell me what hurts your heart so."

The man put his lips near her ear, and whispered "I can see my death, over and over again. And I can see him dying, over and over again." He clutched his chest, face tight with pain "I can feel my heart beating, but it's not supposed to and it pains with every beat. I cannot see any shades of dark green as clearly as I once was able to. And I cannot control the desires of this body." He stared up at her; she could see traces of orange in brown eyes. The soothsayer and the man had much in common; both were bond unwillingly to bodies not their own. But while she could assume her desired own form, for a short duration, he could not. He was a creature bond to a flesh he was unaccustomed to, a flesh whose sister lies nearby on the cold, stone slab above the vapors of the earth. The vapors would not stay contained to the crack beneath the stone slab. Sometimes, they leak out, forming a sulfuric, burning smell.

Any mere human, dwarf, Urgal, elf and Grey Folk could not handle the vapors too long. But the man beneath her, who was laying kisses on her neck, as eager as a child with a new toy, was bond to the flesh and blood of a mad king from a distant land, and his mind and his breath from a creature bond to this native land. He was a creation made in madness, tormented by memories his own and his flesh's.

This man, the soothsayer decided, who had a hand wandering below her torso, was her lonely companion, whether she decided to be an it, a she, or a he. He would stay with the soothsayer for a long time, until their liberation.

 _Come quickly, mad queen,_ the soothsayer thought as she ran her hands through the man's hair. The man trailed his kisses down to her chest, his hands freeing her of the little clothing she wore. _Come free us from this dark Thief who imprisons us._

* * *

In the year 7900 AC:

When Galbatorix's victory was final, a white raven, gifted by the late elvin king, sat atop of one of the branches of the Menoa tree, and gave out a loud, sharp cry of " _Wyrda!_ " Hearing it, the spirit in the Menoa tree shivered, sending out forbidding feels throughout the forest of elves.

All throughout the land, those who were still sensitive to the pleas of nature could not help but feel the fear of the land; it was only the eye of the storm, and another war had yet to come to pass. Dread seized their hearts, and words of warning were passed down through the generations of all races.


	2. Ninety-nine years have passed

**Whoa! Second chapter up already! I have the next two chapters planned out, and I won't be updating until I finish the rough draft of the one I'm working on, so that I easily have a chapter to post up with too much of a delay. Please read, enjoy, and review!**

* * *

Chapter One: Ninety-nine years have passed

(7999 AC)

Eragon's hands gently waved away the forest mist, which still stubbornly clung onto the lower trunks of the trees, to reveal several prints in the snow. Despite the light snow that began to fall, the prints in the snow were fresh, which meant the deer herd was close. He ran silently next to the trail, his eyes searching the forest around him, in case of any unwanted surprises.

There was a slight breeze in the air, and creeks and streams that once flowed from the white-peaks of the mountains stood still in their icy prisons. A few rare, winter birds were undisturbed by his presence as he ran past them. Though it was morning, judging by his internal time, the day was dark from the clouds blocking the sun above. Still, Eragon could see as clearly as he could in sunlight, even if he couldn't see as far as he used to.

Of all the places in the land, the Spine was his favorite. It consisted of several mountains that ran along near the western coast of Alagaesia. High, snow-top mountains, glistening rivers and streams, and the deep, dark, mysterious woods held secrets of the past. It had a feel of being the most ancient place in all of Alagaesia. Its secrets consisted of hidden meadows and valleys, villages of Urgals, werecats, and even a few humans who had lost contact with the outside world. And there were a few other secrets, so ancient and long-lost that even to the oldest elf they would be nothing more than myths and tales or faded memories. In the hundred years he had been living there, he was sure that he had not discovered even a hundredth of the secrets it held.

He spotted his prey, a limping doe, as the herd of deer settled themselves into a clearing, which would have been a meadow any other season. The doe was at the outermost edge of the circle. He pulled out his bow and drew an arrow, aiming at the doe.

" _Eragon,"_ Saphira's voice sounded clearly in his mind. " _There is urgent news, come quickly."_

He relaxed; the tension on the bow lessened. " _I'll be there in an hour."_ He slid his arrow back into his quiver, turned around, and ran. The deer herd remained unaware. He darted through the woods, bared of leaves in the winter. He took care not to step into the snow too heavily; one still didn't know who was wandering despite the doom-and-gloom image the Spine gave off. True to his word, it took him an hour to reach his home.

His home was a large, nearly circular, and a mile long in diameter meadow, with a small house towards one edge. A garden grew behind the house in the spring and summer, and the rest was barren save for a stream that served as a fence between the small garden and the rest of the forest. There was a lake half a mile behind the little grove. The sun had broken through the clouds, encasing the meadow in a soft, greenish-gold light. A bit of a distance away was a tribe of Urgals whom they managed to befriend. It took a while for the horned beings of Alagaesia to trust them and vice versa, but Eragon was glad that they did. There was so much about the Urgralgra, as they call themselves, which was unknown to the Riders. If they won the war against Galbatorix, then Eragon would add this new information into the trainee curriculum.

After they had gained each other's trust, the Urgal children would come to Eragon, and Murtagh's, house for stories about the Riders and knowledge not generally taught to Urgals. The two Riders even had the privilege of training the very few, and very rare Urgralgra magicians. The children grew quite fond of Murtagh, much to his older brother's dismay; they would sometimes follow him like ducklings would their mother duck, and Eragon would deny the fact that he had set them up to it. The adults in the village supported him.

When Eragon arrived, two large dragons were resting next to each other, their wings tucked neatly against their sides, though Thorn had one wing spread on top of Saphira. Murtagh was, as usual, sitting on the steps of the porch. He rested his chin and wrapped his arms around his left leg while his right was stretched out in front of him. His sword, Edoc'sil, lay on his hips, as always. And his father's sword, Zar'roc was stuck upright a foot or so in front of the porch. It was a beautiful sight to behold, but tarnished by the fact that Eragon _knew_ about the innocent lives that it took. The sword gleamed in the sun, and a red light danced on the snow surrounding the sword. It looked as if blood was spilling from the sword, and tainting the pure snow around it.

Zar'roc was given to Murtagh by Brom, who last visited their little abode years ago. Their father had decided to visit and rest after he had just killed Morzan and his dragon. Brom said that if Murtagh and Thorn ever wanted to heal fully, they had to come to terms with who had actually turned them against the Riders. A huge fight nearly ensued between his father and his brother, but Eragon was just glad that by the end of their visit, everyone was still alive.

' _Welcome back, little one,'_ Saphira greeted warmly, while Thorn gave him a large nod. Eragon smiled as he walked up to his dragon, gently petting her large nose.

' _Hello Saphira,'_ he smiled "Hello Thorn. Is Terra is out hunting?"

Terra was a wild dragon, and the first-born wild dragon daughter of Saphira and Thorn. She was raised in the Spine, and developed a keen sense of family. It was lucky that she did; most wild dragons were…well wild and swore an allegiance to no one but themselves.

' _She should be arriving soon,_ Thorn replied. The ruby dragon's voice was deep, and harsh, with remnants of his and Murtagh's anger still lingering.

Eragon didn't shift his gaze from Saphira, but he asked her privately, worried ' _Has Murtagh been this way all morning?'_

' _He got up once,_ ' Saphira added ' _Thorn said that Brom spoke with him. It is best if you hear what he said from him. That is why I called you.'_

' _I'll talk with him then_ ,' Eragon walked over to Murtagh. Instinctively, Murtagh brushed off the snow next to him, allowing Eragon to sit shoulder-to-shoulder against his brother.

"We're fucked," Murtagh stated bluntly.

Eragon raised an eyebrow at his brother's language, but didn't comment on it. Rarely did his brother ever curse, despite popular opinion. Murtagh appreciated the finer elements of life. "What did Father have to say?"

"The Varden is in shambles, their confidence wavering by the Council of Elders. King Larkin of Surda refuses to aid the Varden, though his son, Prince Orrin, considers otherwise, and was banished to the Varden. Half the dwarves are for aiding the Varden and the other half are against it." Here, Murtagh hesitated, his eyes flicking quickly towards Eragon, and looking away again.

"And what about the elves," Eragon prompted, dreading what his brother had to say.

Murtagh sighed "Two nights ago, the Free Riders took up battle against only five of the Imperial Riders over Gil'ead. It's obvious to say that the Free Riders lost. Queen Islanzadi seemed to take it as a confirmation that the cause is useless, and withdrew aide." Eragon cursed.

The Free Riders consisted of five Riders and their Dragons, with their loyalties divided. There were three elves and two humans, with four swearing each to a certain group: one to the Varden, one to the Elves, one to the dwarves (oddly enough) and one to his beloved Arya and her dragon Firnen, both of whom Eragon was proud of and who tried to unite all the Riders and Dragons to bring them under a united group. Though the Free Riders remained divided, they did not swear any allegiance to where their loyalties lay in the Ancient Language, and sworn to never give themselves fully to the cause of one race, but rather to the cause to the benefit of all races, all due to the efforts of Arya and Firnen.

All of Rider-bond dragons were children of Thorn and Saphira, save for Firnen, who was the son of Umaroth, the Dragon of Vrael. The details of how they acquired them were fuzzy in Eragon's mind, but he figured that there would have been more to that then just simple acquiring them when they woke up one morning. Whatever secrets were kept away from his memory had a solid and significant reason for it. Those dragon eggs were given to Brom when he first visited them in the Spine, and were swapped between the Varden and the Elves until they all hatched for Riders.

The Imperial Riders, on the other hand, were strong and united under Galbatorix. Reports ranged from being only five to over fifty, but Eragon figured that they would be somewhere around ten, as Galbatorix wouldn't risk being so easily overpowered. They were the biggest threat after Galbatorix that the Free Nations needed to deal with. If any of the Free Riders died during their latest skirmish with the Imperial Riders, then it would be hard to defeat them, especially since only four of the six eggs Saphira was watching over would hatch for a Rider.

The Imperial Dragons, as they were called, were children of the Forsworn. Eragon did not think that they are mere animals like their parents were, but he wasn't sure. He didn't know how effective the spell cast by all of the dragons before the Fall was. It could have just banished the Forsworn dragons from being a creature of thought to a dumb animal, or it could have affected the children as well.

"Did any of the Free Riders and Dragons die?" Eragon asked, fearing the worst.

Murtagh shook his head. "No, but the elf and dragon loyal to the elves, Vanir and Ohen, have refused to leave with the other Free Riders, and chose head to Ellesmera."

His heart skipped a beat, and Eragon cursed again. From the state of things, he knew that the Free Nations were doomed. The elves were a major benefactor to the Varden. And unless the Varden won another battle, with the aid of the New Order (as it was decided Eragon, Murtagh, Saphira, Thorn, Terra, and the others would be called) it seemed that the Free Nations were all doomed without the support of others. Moreover, the swearing of one Rider-Dragon to a certain race would be sure to cause problems in the future. While it was nice to have Riders from different backgrounds so the Order could better understand the peoples of Alagaesia, a complete loyalty break was a whole different story.

"Then we need to leave immediately," Eragon said "We need to stop this before it escalates."

"Carvahall is first" Murtagh replied "Gertrude, you know, the descendent of Sestina, is a healer there." Sestina was their sister, who, along with her twin Helena, chose to remain as non Riders and pursue their arts in magic. She married a fellow magician, and Helena chose to perform a spell that slowed down her body's aging so that she could watch over her sister's descendents. Helena later died in the Dragon War, long after her sister. "She can help grant us safe passage once we get to the Varden. Ajihad knows her well. Moreover, she has asked a favor from us. There are two boys who need to leave the village. One apparently has the capacity to become a Rider, while the other has a very powerful magic, for one as young as him at least. They can be valuable to the Varden."

"Things must be desperate if the Varden is recruiting children," Eragon said in a low tone. "How does she know that one has the capability to be a Rider?" While it was easy for a magician to determine if a child is a potential magic-user, the ability to detect potential Riders is another matter, and often dwelt with the dark arts.

"Who's the only one who can sense potential Riders because of the twisted magic in him?" Murtagh replied just as softly.

His heart froze "Garrow. He's in Carvahall." He didn't keep up with what happened to that man after Eragon managed to kill his dragon. He did know that Garrow had trained a few of the Imperial Riders, but had mysteriously vanished from Galbatorix's court nearly a little two decades prior. Brom only told them that he was keeping out of trouble, and that the Varden had a keen eye on him; it was probably Gertrude.

"With a family, no less," Murtagh replied. "Two sons, and a daughter; the younger son is one of the two we need to take."

"Ironically enough," Eragon said dryly, "Though I doubt that Garrow will allow his son to work with the Varden."

"No doubt the boy would want to be with his family," Murtagh agreed. "But Brom sends assurances that Gertrude knows a way to get Garrow's son."

"How?"

Murtagh hesitated "Garrow's farm isn't doing so well. Taking off one child will lessen his burden."

"Poverty is the least that he can suffer," Eragon commented darkly, clenching his fists, _'Saphira?'_

' _I share no love for Garrow,'_ his dragon coldly stated. ' _But, it would be wrong to leave a child alone, untrained with such power, even if it is his spawn.'_ Eragon hummed in response.

"I guess that's two more for our journey," Eragon's mind wandered over the several things they had to do first, calculating what they needed to do. "It'll take months to reach the Varden, especially if we need to be cautious of the Imperial Riders and the soldiers.

"I'll inform Brom that we're coming then," Murtagh headed into the house, with Eragon close behind him.

As Eragon entered the house, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. The house was three stories tall. The ground floor had a kitchen, a small dining room, and a living room with a hearth. The next level served as a study, where a few Compendiums of magic existed, along with journals that Eragon insisted they keep. It also had a large mirror that served their scrying purposes. Finally, the topmost level had their bedrooms. There was also a cellar, for food that they would store. Under Solembum's advice, they reserved food enough to feed an entire village, as well as herbs for healing.

It took Murtagh years to build it, singing the trees into making their homes as the elves did. Once Eragon took over (after he was well enough), Murtagh resorted to studying from and learning everything he could from the Rider books they somehow had. The result was a few Compendiums in which even Eragon learned something new from.

There was another reason as well for building the home and the years of studying, but no one said it out loud. A lot of anger, hurt and humiliation resided in both Thorn and Murtagh. It seemed that creating something and learning were one of the many things that helped them begin to heal. All around the house were items they made: furniture, pieces of artwork, etc. However, both of them remained a bit moody and reluctant to talk about what they had endured.

' _Galbatorix may have spies in the Varden,'_ Saphira interrupted his thoughts. As much as he hated to, he had to admit that it was possible. He had heard concerns of this from Brom. ' _Those spies would have told him how the Free Nations are in turmoil. He would not care for ferreting out their secrets. Remember, the Varden have not launched a major attack against the Empire in decades, so he may presume that they are not a huge threat. He will not bother himself with a matter he would consider trivial. He has enough Riders under his control to maintain order in his Empire, and he has no reason to attack the other nations yet. I…do not think he has changed so much over the years.'_

' _That can't be helped,'_ Eragon thought darkly, ' _And we could sit around thinking about 'what-ifs', but we've wasted too many years as it is.'_

Eragon felt Saphira understand him, but she added ' _Not wasted, little one, at least not entirely. We have spent time healing, and Galbatorix doesn't know that we exist.'_ He hummed in response, agreeing.

It took them a total of two days to get rid of everything that they didn't need, and to pack everything that they did, including food. It took them faster than it would have normally, but longer then Eragon would have liked. The dragons, including Terra, did what they could to help, though it wasn't much. The third day Murtagh disappeared to meet with the Urgal village, to tell them of their leave. He came back only an hour later with Nar Garzhvog, head of the Bolvek Tribe that lived near them. His brood-mate Zenariz carried a bundle in her arms.

"You have been kind to our tribe, oh Riders and Dragons," The large Kull spoke in his deep, grinding voice as he raised his head to bare his throat in the Urgal gesture of respect. "This shelter would be looked after and all those who wander here will be given shelter as long as they are on good terms with the New Order of the Dragon Riders."

"You honor us," Eragon returned the throat gesture. "We thank you and your tribe for your hospitality, Nar Garzhvog of the Bolvek Tribe." The Urgal children kept pestering Murtagh for one reason or another; Eragon smiled at his brother's predicament.

"For giving the Bolvek tribe the knowledge of the land kept hidden from us," Garzhvog continued, "We wish to give you these daggers, crafted in the style of the Urgralgra and by the knowledge you have taught our tribe. May they serve you well."

"Thank-you, Nar Garzhvog," Eragon and Murtagh bowed deeply to him. Eragon felt rather touched by the offer. Urgralgra made some of the sturdiest and even finest weapons, though they lacked the grace and strength of an elvin sword.

Zenariz stepped forward, and handed the small bundle to Eragon. "Flamesword and Swiftblade," she greeted.

"We are honored, Zenariz," Eragon and Murtagh bowed again to her. Eragon watched as Murtagh drew back the cloth that covered the bundled, and admired the style of the daggers. One had red engravings on the handle, and the other blue. Other than that, they were identical in every way possible. The handle had a smaller sharp-pointed blade curving up out of the end. The main blade itself was also curved, with a cleft near the hilt of the handle, and three ridges on the arc of the blade.

"They are well crafted," Murtagh admired, running a light hand across his. "They will be well taken care of."

Garzhvog grunted in acknowledgement, and promised Eragon the alliance of the Bolvek tribe, should they ever decide to aid the Free Nations. In return, Eragon took a risk that had earned him a glare from Murtagh and doubt from the dragons the day before when he proposed it, but it was done with the consent of the entire, small, New Order of Dragon Riders.

First, he gave them a mirror, which allowed him and Murtagh to contact the Urgals in order to call them onto battle, or for the Tribe to call them for any aid necessary.

"Now I ask a great task from you," Eragon said quietly "I hope that this would be a chance for the Urgals to understand that the New Order of Riders see them as equals with the other races of Alagaesia." He turned toward Saphira's saddle, which lay by her feet. From a saddlebag, he pulled out two wild dragon eggs, turned around, and handed them to Nar Garzhvog and Zenariz, who looked at them in surprise. The eggs were the last children of Vervada, Saphira's mother. There were four other dragon eggs, and these were children of Thorn and Saphira.

"I am entrusting the two of you, with the consent of Saphira and Terra, with these two dragon eggs. Keep them warm until they are hatched, and then feed them, raise them. I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality, or your kindness. You have shared the knowledge of your culture with us, and we have, in return, shared the knowledge of what we can from the other races of Alagaesia. Now we asked you to raise two dragons as a permanent bond in our trust to the Bolvek Tribe."

For a moment, neither of the Urgals said anything. And then, surprisingly enough, Nar Garzhvog angrily asked "What trick is this Rider? Do you wish to put us so far in your debt that we willingly do anything for you? Is this how you return our favor?"

Eragon didn't know whether to feel offended or touched that Garzhvog was so deeply moved by his offer that he couldn't believe it.

"That is not my intention," he spoke calmly. Then he spoke to the rest of the Bolvek tribe in the Urgal Tongue "It is no trick, but yes, I have motives. This is a time of war, and as much as I hate this, we need more fighters, who the New Order can, for sure, trust. The Urgralgra are a race of physical and familial strength. They are honorable and keep their word once it is given, which I admire. Your tribe, above all others, I know for sure we can trust. You have already promised to aide us, and I give you two dragons as protection and as thanks for your aid in a time of turmoil."

In a quieter voice, he added "And I know that neither of you, Nar Garzhvog and Zenariz are able to bear children. Dragons are not Urgralgra, and I fear I may burden you with trouble. But please, all I can ask of you is to raise these dragons as best as you can. They understand emotions better than words, but they are smart enough to learn words, though they won't be as fluent. Please, teach them what we've taught your tribe and what you've taught us, and more so if you wish. Take them in as one of your own. And lastly, you are the only tribe to resist the urge to join the Empire. It puts you in grave danger, but not once has your tribe ever betrayed us to the mad King. We trust you, and to give you dragons to rise as your own is a token of our trust."

There were several moments of silence, in which the New Order, which included Terra, waited tensely for the reaction of the Urgralgra.

 _That was well said, little one,_ Saphira said proudly as she gently touched her Rider's head.

Eragon felt slightly embarrassed. _I did what I felt was right._

He felt Murtagh's mind brush up against his, and he let his brother in. ' _I understand why you did this, Eragon, but it's still a risk.'_

' _I know, Murtagh. But a war can't be won without any risks.'_

Murtagh withdrew his mind without any comment.

Finally, Nar Garzhvog spoke. When he did, his voice trembled and he said in a quiet tone Eragon didn't think possible for Urgals, "Rider," and the rest of the Urgals leaned in to hear his reply. "You have honored my tribe beyond what any being has ever shown toward the Urgralgra. I cannot thank you enough for this. My answer is, Nar Flamesword, the leader, the first king of the New Order of Dragon Riders, yes. My brood mate and I will take these dragons and raise them as our own."

Zenariz added, with tears pouring out of her eyes "This event will be woven into every Namna of the Bolvek Tribe. Songs in your praise will be sung from now until the end of time in our tribe." The other Urgals roared in agreement, as well as the dragons.

Eragon proceed to give Garzhvog and Zenariz instructions of how to raise a wild dragon, and the basic necessities of raising a wild dragon, though he was still worried about the dragons.

' _I am proud of you little one,'_ Saphira told her Rider as Urgal children danced around Murtagh. ' _You have done well. Our masters Oromis and Glaedr would be proud.'_

Eragon grew red ' _I did what I thought was necessary and right.'_

' _You…have done much more than that little one.'_

Later that night, before they went to sleep, Murtagh turned towards Eragon. Eragon couldn't tell what his brother was thinking, but he saw a gleam of pride in his eyes, and for some reason, that made Eragon all the happier. He recalled the days, as dim as they were, when they were young and when Eragon would do anything to please his older brother, whom he rarely saw. Murtagh gave him a brief nod, and turned to bed. Smiling, Eragon fell asleep.

The next morning, the group of five discussed the plan and made several variations to them; in case one failed, the other would make up for it. He and Murtagh checked the house one more time, making sure that the spell that would keep the food fresh for years, if needed, was in place, and that nothing of great import was left behind. They added another one that allowed anyone who wished to aid the Varden be able to see it. Nar Garzhvog was informed of this, and he promised again that his tribe would aid the others in any way possible.

They finalized everything on the third day. Murtagh placed a spell on the bags that they would carry, so that they could carry more than the bag would normally allow. Here, the two Riders added their clothes and food into the bags, while the little money they had went into two small sacks each tied to their waists. Even the last four dragon eggs, children of Thorn and Saphira, went into the bag; they had to test to see if the boy Brom spoke about really had the potential to be a Rider. They kept their weapons on them; their swords and daggers were attached to their belts, while the Urgal daggers were hidden in the back of their belt, covered by their cloak. However, Murtagh kept Zar'roc, which was broader then his sword, across his back. Eragon has his arrows and unstrung bow in the quiver on his back. The Compendiums, the numerous daggers and weapons the two created, fairths, and all other important items, but not necessarily needed for them to carry, were all packed onto the saddlebags on the dragons' saddles. Even Terra carried a few items. Eragon was surprised when she offered; the elves would be completely ballistic if they ever find out.

After telling Brom that they were leaving, they donned their cloaks and started immediately that night, not needing to sleep. The dragons flew above the Spine, but low enough so that their talons brushed the top of the trees. It took them a night and a day to reach the edge of the Spine. All the while, though, Eragon couldn't help but feel strange. Something felt off in the world, and the feeling only grew more and more as the two headed towards Carvahall. They reached the edge of the forest, atop a cliff that had a winding path that led downwards. In the distance, Eragon could make out a dimly lit village with several farms scattered about like embers around a fire. "That's…that's Carvahall?" His stomach twisted; the village that lay before him was once a mighty city, ten miles wide. Now, it was nothing more than a few shacks in a close knit circle.

"That's not the only surprise we'll be getting," Murtagh said.

"I know," Eragon replied "But so much has changed in a hundred years. I wonder if they knew how great Carvahall was." A moving yellow light caught his attention. Under the moonlight, Eragon could make out a small figure on a horse, leading two others, making her way towards them. ' _She must be Gertrude,'_ Eragon mused.

' _Brom may have told her we were coming tonight,'_ Saphira considered. ' _Be wary, though little one.'_

' _I will,'_ Eragon replied. He slowly stretched out his mind towards the woman, hearing Saphira's chastising cry and feeling her disapproval at his rash actions.

The woman had set up barriers, weak ones that he could have easily brushed aside. But he waited for her to lower them. The woman stopped her horse, and Eragon could see her face pale as she felt his mind. It must have been larger, and more powerful than any she had encountered. "Don't scare her, Eragon," Murtagh said "She may think that we're the Imperial Riders."

Eragon hummed, and still waited for her to lower her barriers. Hesitantly, she did. ' _Who is this?'_ She asked, thoughts coming out as frightened.

' _Eragon,'_ he replied.

He felt her surprise, and an image flashed by. He saw his father Brom in a mirror. ' _Gertrude,'_ he concluded ' _Stay there, we will come to you.'_

"Is it Gertrude?" Murtagh asked.

"Yes. I told her that we'd be coming to her."

The dragons stayed behind, hovering in the air. ' _You should leave,'_ Eragon told Saphira. ' _We'll meet again at Ristvak'baen.'_

' _Very well; take care, little one. I love you.'_

' _I love you too, Saphira,'_ Eragon didn't look as he felt the wind of the three dragon wings. He started down a narrow path, with Murtagh behind him.


	3. After they arrived in Carvahall

**Yes I know! Another chapter!**

 **However, I have an announcement. I have my finals this week, so I can't update as quickly as I have with the others. If I do update before next Friday, please yell at me because I really should have been studying...**

 **Anyway, I was editing and retyping much of this chapter. I actually have chapter three finished; I'll be revising that as I write chapter four.**

 **Please tell me what you think. I feel as if I've made Garrow's and Roran's characters OOC and all that I can guarantee is that Roran will go through a major character development so that he'll be more like he is in the books. I know where I'm going with this, and I can only hope that there won't be too many curve-balls and plot twists. Hey, at the end, I wrote a little spoiler (sort of). I'm not sure if I'll have that scene in the book yet, but we'll see when I get there.**

 **Read, Review, and most of all enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Two:

Snow softly crunched beneath his feet. Gertrude got down from her horse, and, rather timidly, walked up to them. She held two fingers up to her mouth, " **Atra esterní ono thelduin, Shur'tugalar.** "

Eragon and Murtagh repeated the action " **Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr.** " They said together, amused.

" **Un du evarinya ono varda** ," Gertrude finished.

"I'm surprised to find that our sister's descendents have quite the knowledge about elvin gestures," Murtagh commented; a twitch of his lips showing his amusement.

" **We are proud of our traditions** ," Gertrude replied in the Ancient Language. Her pronunciation had a slight human accent to it, but otherwise it was well-spoken " **For** **they are all that remain of a life before Galbatorix.** "

" **Indeed; I'm impressed with your articulation. You speak better than most of the human magicians from even before the Dragon War,** " Eragon smiled.

" **I'm honored,** " She curtsied, her form dipping low, her head bowed, but her back straight; exactly like a proper lady.

" **There is no need to bow to family,** " Eragon told her, though he and Murtagh had given her a short bow in return " **After all, we are ultimately your uncles.** "

Gertrude raised an eyebrow, and for a moment Eragon could see his sister in her " **In that case, uncles, follow me. Rest tonight in my home, and then tomorrow we can discuss your purpose.** "

" **Sounds like a plan,** " he followed her to the horses. As he mounted his horse, his hood fell down.

Gertrude gasped. " **You look like elves!** " She exclaimed.

Eragon shared a glance with his brother. " **Yes, we do, don't we?** " He said. He fingered the tip of his ear. " **I suppose we should alter our appearance for the time being during our stay. If anyone calls us elves…well, we'll be in trouble.** "

Gertrude nodded. " **Yes, but for now, let's go and rest. I've already told Byrd, the village watchman, two members of the family are visiting me in Carvahall. He'll let us pass through without any questions.** "

The three started on their way. Eragon throw his hood up, and both he and his brother muttered a spell that would allow them to slip through without the watchman Byrd looking too closely at their faces.

The watchman rounded the corner, holding up a lantern. A short greeting passed between Gertrude and the watchman, Byrd, who chastised her for not taking someone with her so late at night.

"It'll take a lot more than the darkness to scare away a member of our family, especially a woman," Eragon told the watchman "I'd say that we were the ones who started the phrase 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.'"

The watchman laughed good-naturally while Gertrude hummed in annoyance. Byrd let them through. As Eragon passed what he guessed the watchman's house was, he caught sight of a pale face looking through the window. He glanced over; the face looked young, around thirteen years, and it looked too skinny to be healthy. Both Gertrude and Byrd seemed well-fed.

' _I wonder,'_ he thought to himself. He could feel Saphira growl between their link.

' _A dangerous pastime for you,'_ she said. ' _Do not stick your nose into things that do not concern you right now, little one.'_

' _I'll try not to,'_ he smiled to himself. He could almost feel Saphira sigh in exasperation, but felt a small thrill of excitement. Over the centuries, his dragon managed to make whatever messes he landed himself in…interesting. Both of them came to enjoy their misadventures.

(Page Break)

Adrian watched as the snowflakes slowly fluttered down onto the steps of the porch. Icicles glistened from the morning sun, hanging precariously from the ceiling of the porch. When the winter wind blew, he shivered and wrapped his cloak tightly around himself. He wasn't one for the cold, but he appreciated the beauty that winter brought. He snuck an arm out of his tightly bound cloak and watched delightfully as the snowflakes landed on it. He smiled as he felt the tiny pinpricks of cold and ice land on his palm, and melt away.

"What are you doing?" A quiet voice asked. Adrian turned to face his twin, Adrianna. Though they were identical with their brown eyes, black hair, their thin faces, and their cat-like eyes, Adrianna, much to Adrian's displeasure, was taller than him "You're going to get a cold, and then where will we be?"

Adrian smiled as his sister grabbed his hand and rubbed, bringing heat to it. "W-well, I-I'll h-h-have m-my h-healer sister f-fix me up."

Adrianna rolled her eyes. "Come on," She tugged his hand "We need to get back inside before mother and father yell at us again." At the mention of his parents, particularly his mother, Adrian sobered and followed his sister inside. Their older brother greeted them in the living room, as he was lacing up his boots.

Roran was a large, bulky man at only eighteen years of age, seven years older than the twins. He spent the last two winters working at a mill in Theinsford, as well as doing most of the farm work alongside their father. "Are the two of you ready yet?" He asked, looking up at his siblings. They nodded.

"Good," he stood up and motioned them to come inside the kitchen. All the food that they would be selling lay in crates and baskets on the table though this year there were only two crates and three baskets. Their father Garrow, a stern man with a mean look but a kinder heart, had picked up a crate. Despite his fragile frame, and the fact that he didn't eat as much as the rest of the family, Garrow was one of the strongest men in the village.

"Grab a crate, Roran," Garrow said. Quickly, the family each went about their respective tasks. Roran and Garrow would load the larger crates into the wagon. The twins went about helping their mother with the baskets, which carried the pickled food. But after the wagon was loaded, Garrow called the entire family backside the house.

"The twins are staying home." He declared, once everyone was gathered.

"No!" Adrianna protested "The traders won't come again until spring! You promised that we'd be able to go today!"

Adrian stayed silent, and his stomach churned. He knew why Father didn't want them to come. "N-Norfavrell," He muttered into his sister's ear, tugging on her dress sleeve.

Adrianna quickly turned somber "C-can we at least spend some time with him before," she paused, then started again "Before they…they…"

"Maybe they should," Roran added carefully. Adrian looked up hopefully at his older brother. Garrow usually listened to Roran, when he listened to anyone at all.

"That boy is getting what he deserved," his mother, Marian, interjected. She didn't say anything else, but Adrian could hear her thoughts ' _Though those twins are just as queer as well…'_

He and his sister Adrian were the odd ones of the village, the misfits. He'd stuttered and often collapse into fits at random intervals. Adrianna was too bold for a girl. Their skins were always tanner than the others as if they'd spend all year out in the summer sun (though nowhere near as dark as the traitors), and they both looked a little more than flesh and bone, small in height as well even though Adrianna was taller than him. Unlike the rest of the broad-faced villagers, their faces were thin, with a large mop of hair on top of their heads.

There were others things about him in particular as well, strange things that happened. He could listen to the thoughts of animals, well, not really thoughts, but more like sense their emotions. He could sometimes hear other people's thoughts, but not always, and not everyone's. It wasn't exactly a good thing. He could never know what his father was thinking, and knew too much about what his mother, brother, and the rest of the villagers thought of them. Only Adrianna knew of this talent, and her defensiveness of him only made them sticks out all the more.

Their only true friend was their cousin Norfavrell, a boy they would be 'purifying' today with the help of some of the traders, who specialized in dealing with people of unnatural qualities. Nori, as they called him, was the only one other who knew about Adrian's strange ability, but urged him to keep quiet. After all, Nori told his parents about his feelings, who in turn told the rest of their large family, who then spread it, unintentionally they said, to the rest of the village. And that got them to where they were today.

"We haven't seen him in a long time," Adrianna continued. Adrian grabbed her hand for support "Father, please."

Everyone seemed to hold their breath. "No," Garrow said firmly. "Go to your room. There will be food for lunch and dinner in the cellar. If I see either of you there, I'll skin and tan your hides."

Adrian grabbed his sister and the two dashed up the stairs, neither one of them eager to find out if Garrow would keep true to his threat.

(Norfavrell's POV)

He knew when the traders arrived, having heard their loud, rumpus noises and the front door slam shut when his uncle, Byrd the village watchman, went out to greet them. He didn't bother to check and see if he would be let out yet. He hadn't been let out in months, so he doubts anything would be new.

He had confessed to his parents, who were approachable and friendly. They would listen and help with anyone's problems. He hoped that they would help about his attraction to boys over girls. That only resulted in his parents locking him away, and then telling their entire family about it, in hopes that they would help. Unfortunately, Birgit, his mother, had chosen a wrong time tell his Aunt Marian as one of his younger siblings heard about it, and the news spread like wildfire in the village.

No one wanted to be near him. No one wanted to talk to him or touch him. He was treated like a fatal disease until his parents locked him in the spare room at his Uncle Byrd's house. They kept him separate from his siblings, feeding him twice a day and letting him use the privy once a day. Other times, they tried to get the Healer Gertrude to look at him and treat him. Each time she said that there was nothing she could do because it wasn't a disease. Norfavrell wondered if something was fatally wrong with him.

He also wondered if they would sell him to the traders for money. He doubted it, but a nagging feeling told him that something was wrong. His suspicions only proved to be true when the door to his room opened around mid-morning and he saw his mother's face.

His mother Birgit, tall strong and proud, stood in the doorway with a plate of cheese and bread-and chicken!-in one hand and water in another. Yet instead of seeing the blank façade she kept on whenever she was around him, there was a line of worry drawn all over her face.

He immediately swung his feet onto the floor "Mother?" he asked, alarmed. The day when the traders came was usually a day of great joy and happiness. Villagers and traders would exchange goods, troubadours and musicians would perform, and there would be so many foods to choose from! It was heaven on earth for everyone.

"Eat your food," she said stiffly. Hearing his mother's voice for the first time in months did wonders to his ears; he nearly cried. She held out the plate and cup for him, another first in months. Slowly, Norfavrell climbed off his bed, and walked towards her. The day felt like a dream; real yet he wondered how it was possible. Maybe people decided to forgive him?

"Thank-you," he whispered as he took them from her, trying to hold back his tears. He watched as her eyes glossed over but she quickly blinked and they were gone. Without another word, she left.

Norfavrell sat on his bed, his throat closed and openly, but silently, cried. It seemed like a huge relief as if a great weight had been lifted off his chest. He thought that he would never hear his mother's voice talking to him again.

 _Wuss! Only girls cry like that!_

 _Only girls like boys!_

 _You've got the devil in you._

 _Stay away from the poof, he'll make you into a devil!_

Taunts of the other village boys echoed in his mind. He pushed them aside and decided to focus on his food.

As soon as he finished his plate the door opened again, and he looked up to find Uncle Byrd standing in the doorway.

"Come with me," his uncle didn't want for him to answer as he grabbed the boy with a gloved hand, and dragged him out. "It's time you were taught a lesson."

(The Twins)

They listened to their father, huddled up in their 'room', which was the attic of the house. While other farmer often had single floor homes, Garrow's had three; the first floor, the second floor with two bedrooms, and the third floor-the attic.

"Can you do that thing, again?" Adrianna asked; her eyes wide, "The one where you can speak into my mind?"

Adrian thought for a moment, biting his lip, and then he shook his head.

"Please, Ri?" She used her brother's nickname, the one only she uses, and poked him in the side, "I think it's really amazing!"

Again, he said no. He didn't want to invade his sister's privacy like that, as he often told her.

"Fine," She huffed and crossed her arms. "I won't talk to you until you do. In fact, the only way that you can hear me is if you read my mind."

Adrian stuck his tongue out at her. "I-I guess I-I'll f-finally have s-some quiet."

Adrianna whacked him in the head.

A loud crash downstairs made them both jump. "Their room's in the attic," a gruff voice said; they realized that it belonged to Sloan, the butcher.

The twins looked at each other, before scrambling under the bed. Loud footsteps thundered up the stairs, and their bedroom door flung open. They waited with baited breathed, until Adrianna was grabbed. "No!" Adrian cried, as he too was taken, "L-Let g-go!"

Burlap sacks covered their head, and their hands and feet were bound. "Get them in the wagon." Sloan's voice ordered. "We have to be quick before Garrow realizes that something was amiss." Neither twin could see where they were going, but they knew that they were heading downstairs. Both were tossed roughly into a cart, hitting their heads against each other. A few moments later, and the wagon they were thrown in started to move. They jostled against each other.

' _Adrian?'_ Adrianna called out in her mind, nervous ' _Can you hear me?'_

' _Yes?'_ Adrian responded, though his voice was faint.

' _We're going to be okay. Father will find us and put a stop to this. People listen to him.'_

'… _I don't think he'll come.'_ It was just a theory that Adrian had, but sometimes he wondered if it was true; that Garrow didn't love them as much as he loved Roran.

They passed the rest of the time in silence, hearts thumping in their chests, fearful of what was to come. When they finally stopped moving, rough hands pulled them out. "You'll finally be getting what you deserve," Sloan's voice croaked. Both twins fought the tight grip, but to no avail.

(Eragon POV)

The plan was to stay inside all day, mostly because they didn't want to attract attention. Earlier that morning, Gertrude's apprentice, a young fourteen-year old boy named Baldor, met the two. He was only told that they would be taking away two boys, whose names were Norfavrell and Adrian. When Eragon heard what Garrow named his youngest son, he almost jerked back. Murtagh looked up from the book he was reading. ' _I wonder if he named his eldest Roran,'_ Eragon thought bitterly ' _He had no right to name either of his children as such.'_

"You better take Adrianna as well," Baldor told them "Adrian would never leave his twin behind."

"His twin," Eragon wondered.

Gertrude quickly interceded "I plan to take her into my home. She too can become a healer. I plan to leave after you apprenticeship is finished, Baldor, and she will come with me."

He stayed silent on the subject. Adrian and Adrianna; just what was Garrow thinking? And what happened when he left twenty years ago? Did his True Name change? If so, what caused it to change? He wondered if it was love; it seemed that familial love for one's blood skipped a few generations in his family.

A frantic knocking at the door broke their conversation. Baldor went to answer it.

"Get Gertrude," A female's voice nearly shouted. Gertrude rushed over.

"Katrina? What's wrong?"

"Norfavrell, Adrian and Adrianna," Katrina wheezed out. "I-I only…managed…to get away….men…traders…father he's mad…"

Gertrude rushed off, not bothering to put her cloak on. Eragon shared a glance with Murtagh, who put his book down. They both donned their clothes, while Murtagh grabbed Gertrude's. Eragon made sure to grab his bow and arrow, and he was sure Murtagh had brought a long dagger with him. They rushed out, and Eragon took a quick glance at the newcomer; her rust-colored hair seemed to be sticking out in certain places. They followed Gertrude towards a crowd of people, both traders and villagers alike, and Eragon heard an idiot before he saw him.

"The devil's got into them!" A man, presumably Katrina's father, shouted "We need no such creatures in our village. Purge them I say; purge them!"

"Stop!" Gertrude's voice rang throughout the crowd. People parted easily for her, and Eragon and Murtagh fell into step behind her. "Sloan, you bastard, what are you doing?"

Easily taller than most of the people there, Eragon saw two children tied to a post, with flames licking their feet, and another with his arms stretched between two poles. Three, angry red whip marks stood out on the boy's pale back. One of the children on the pole, a boy it looked like, was throwing a fit, as if he couldn't control his limbs. Eragon could hear the girl mouth words of comfort to him, in between her own coughs. ' _Don't talk!_ ' he wanted to shout to her ' _It'll only make it worse!_ '

The man near the boy between the poles, probably Sloan, held a whip he paused in midair when he heard Gertrude. Everyone else stilled, watching the scene unfold before them. Eragon's attention was caught by a man who had stood much closer to Sloan. His face was thinner, skin taut over bone. His frame was thin, and his clothes hung off him. He wore a thick cloak around himself, as well as five traders who seem to be holding him back. Eragon recognized him instantly.

Garrow caught his eyes, and his face paled. Eragon stared at the man he was once proud to call his brother of flesh and blood.

No one noticed.

Sloan faltered for a moment, and another man, a trader, spoke up "Silence woman! This doesn't concern you!"

Gertrude glared at the man "I must say that it doesn't concern you, trader. This is village business, and those are village children."

Eragon didn't think; his feet moved towards the children about to be burned. He heard someone shout to stop him, but the shouts grew into cries of steel as Murtagh stepped in. A dagger on his throat stopped Eragon.

"One step forward and I'll cut you, I swear."

The smoke was getting to them now; the boy fainted. The girl just stared at him with wide eyes. ' _Protect them'_ his instincts told them ' _Protect them, you promised.'_

Eragon grabbed the man's arm, twisted it behind his back, and kick him on his behind, sending the man sprawling into the snow. He headed towards the flames, drew his dagger, and with one quick swift cut the ropes, not caring if the flames burnt him or not. Of course, magic had a part in it as well. The girl leapt towards him while he had to catch the boy, failing limbs and all. Both of them weren't spared from burns, and there was smoke was in their lungs. The girl looked up at him, her eyes wide, and her lips trembling.

"I-I can't…hear him…anymore," she whispered in between coughs "He's…going to…be alright?" She asked him, her eyes widening even further. They seemed familiar, but he couldn't see why. After all, there were many people with brown eyes. But…hers were different.

"Shhh, don't speak now. He'll be fine." The boy seemed to stop his fits, but was unconscious. Eragon gently laid the boy's head in her lap. "We can heal him…Adrianna."

Her girl inhaled sharply, and shivered. Eragon frowned before he placed his cloak around them. He stood up to face the others.

The man with the whip on his hands stood off to the side, his face showing a mixture of shock and helplessness. No one else, not even the traders dared to move. Gertrude, wearing her cloak, was kneeling by the other boy, looking at his wounds as the boy lay on top of his cloak. Murtagh had just knocked out the last of the men, and around him laid a circle of unconscious-hopefully-men, some traders, some of the villagers. "These will scar," she said. "Norfavrell will bear these for life."

There were several moments of silence. Eragon turned to Garrow. In an even tone, he inquired "Who are you to these children that you're trying to stop the men from hurting them."

"The boy whipped is my nephew." Garrow replied evenly, his face still pale. "The twins are my children."

There it was; that tell that seemed to still stay with him even after all of these years. It was a little twitch in his left one, unnoticed by those without the sharpest gaze, which told Eragon he was lying. "Lady Gertrude, we are in need of your services."

"Come with me," Gertrude stood up.

"Wrap your arms around my neck," Eragon told the girl, Adrianna. He picked up her brother, Adrian, and laid him over his shoulder. Adrianna wrapped her arms around his neck, whimpering from the pain of her burns. Eragon kept on hand on the boy's back, and passed an arm under Adrianna to support her. He stood up, causing the crowd to murmur around him. He heard whispers of surprised and suspicion as he followed Gertrude through the crowd. Their silence gave off a thick tension in the air, enough to choke someone.

' _Little one!'_ Saphira cried, alarmed.

' _I'm alright,_ ' he told her, sending her images of what happened. Anger poured in from her, and Eragon had to pull away before it clouded his judgment.

(Adrianna POV)

Her hands and legs seared with pain, and she couldn't breathe properly. The man who carried her seemed to walk gently, yet quickly, hurrying after Gertrude. "I-I can't breathe," she rasped, tightening her grip around the man only to have her arms burn with pain.

"Almost there," the man comforted her gently. "Just a few more steps and Gertrude will tend to you. Lower your head if you're still having trouble. Take slow, deep breathes to clear the smoke from your lungs."

She did as he said, lowering her head, inhaling the man's scent. It smelled of the forest, of pines and maples, and of another smell that she couldn't identity. But for some reason, she felt safe around him, safer than around even her own father. Garrow had a temper that flared and could attack anyone. Only her brother seemed to be able to calm him, but that was rare. As she rested her head on his, she stared at his ear. It looked like any other ear, except it was pointed towards the end.

"Are you an elf?" she whispered before she could stop herself.

"…no…But the woman I love is."

The day was getting warmer, but it was chilly enough for her to shiver. "Almost there," the man who carried her repeated. "Just a little longer; don't fall asleep."

"I'm not tired," she informed him. "I'm cold." She closed her eyes, and pressed herself closer to the man. He was much, much warmer than anyone she had ever met.

Why was she so close with this man? What about him made her trust him more than her own family? Her mind flashed back to Roran and Marian's stoic faces as she and Adrian were tied to the pole. Only Garrow leaped forward to try and stop Sloan; but deep down, she wondered if he saved them because he loved them, or for some other reason.

A blast of warm air met her back, and she sighed in relief. Breathing deeply had helped her breathes, but her body still ached and seared with pain where there were burns. The man placed her gently on a stool, and put her brother next to her. Much to her surprise, Adrian was awake.

"I thought you were still unconscious," Adrianna whispered, hugging her brother while being mindful of their conditions. Adrian remained silent, not even talking to her in her mind. He just shrugged, and looked down at his burned hands.

"We'll wrap those burns of yours," the man who carried her and her brother knelt before them, holding salves and bandages in his hands. The other man came beside him. He looked slightly tanner than the first, with brown hair that reached just past his chin, and chilling grey eyes. The first man had shorter hair, just touching his eyebrows, with the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. They had specks of green, even red in them. What stood out to her the most was how old the eyes were. They seemed tired, worn, and stretched. They looked like the eyes of wild animals before they were provoked.

"My name is Eragon," the man with the blue eyes said, in the gentlest voice Adrianna had ever heard anyone use on her. "And this is my brother Murtagh. But outside of present company, or unless we say otherwise, call me Caleb and call Murtagh Tornac, alright?"

Adrianna nodded, and saw Adrian do the same out of the corner of her eye. The one called Eragon took her hands and started to apply a salve to it. She winced and whimpered when it burned.

"I'm sorry," He said, his fingers light and nimble as they worked on her wounds. "Do not hesitate to cry, either of you. It's not a weakness to shed tears when in pain."

Adrianna nodded, tears following freely from her face as the pain of both the burned hands and the memory of what happened. "Th-they j-just c-came f-for us," she felt a certain need to let them know, specifically Eragon, though she didn't understand why. Her voice cracked and she hiccupped, staring at her hands, now being wrapped in fresh bandages.

"O-our f-family h-had g-gone t-to see the carnival and s-sell th-the goods," Adrian cut in, but he couldn't finish. "W-we di-didn't g-go be-because N-nori…they…"

"I understand," Eragon gently laid her now-wrapped hands on her lap. He inspected her legs, washing them off and applying the same salve as before. "If the two of you, and Nori, would want to leave this village, would you?"

Adrianna looked up sharply at the sudden question, but thought about it honestly. To be whisked away into adventure and foreign lands by handsome strangers? It sounded like a tale Gertrude would tell the younger children. Both men glanced between her and Adrian, waiting for an answer.

"Y-yes," much to her surprise, Adrian was the one who answer. "I-I w-would l-like to, a-as long as N-Nori and Ria come w-with." Ria was the nickname he gave her, and he never used in front of anyone else, not even Nori. She nodded her agreement; after all, the only time she felt that it was close to home was with her brother, and if he was leaving, than she was leaving as well.

"I'd like to come too," was Nori's quiet reply. Adrianna looked up to find her cousin sitting up on the bed. His face looked pale, and he was too skinny from the lack of eating. He shrunk into the mattress, and he seemed to be smaller than he usually was "I-I have no home here."

Adrianna watched as Eragon and Murtagh shared a glance with each other, and then with Gertrude. "That settles it than," The healer concluded "No one would care if they left. I'll ask Marian and Gertrude for their clothes. When will you leave?"

"I suspect as soon as they're wounds are healed," Murtagh spoke for the first time. Adrianna found his voice rather curious; it was both calm, collected, and yet unusually emotional.

Gertrude furrowed her eyebrows, thinking "It will take quite a few days for them to heal, up to a week," she turned towards Adrianna and her brother "Until then, the two of you, and you as well Norfavrell, will best get some sleep. No doubt Eragon and Murtagh need to make adjustments to their plans."

"Yes," Eragon stood up, brushing off the dirt on his trousers. "We will be back before lunch. But only after dinner tonight will we start discussing our plans."

Adriana nudged Adrian, who only looked at her, and then back at Eragon, his eyes wide, and glazed over, as if he was deep in thought. She frowned; what happened to her brother?

"Very well," Gertrude's voice drew her attention. "If you'll help me take the children back to the house, they can rest better there."

* * *

 **Possible Spoiler:**

Selena stopped her company right in front of the north bridge of Theinsford. Just a few miles off lay Carvahall, a village she thought-hoped even-to never set her eyes upon.

"Second thoughts?" Her brother's voice asked softly in her ear. He was slightly ill from the affects of the poison, and opted to stay on a horse where he knows for sure that the other rider would have quick enough reflexes to catch him. Whatever he decision now, he'll support her.

"We can turn back," Araum suggested. Her former commanding officer would have her back as well, but she knew that if she turned the company around, he'd be disappointed. He really wanted to meet her family, for some reason. And she wanted to impress him, for some reason.

Behind her was the the rest of her company, as well as two Riders (on the same horse as they were in a relationship only known to few) who had left their dragons in the eastern Mountains of Palancar Valley. Besides the Riders, the rest of them had fought with her, bled with her, and would die with her, all for a cause that they believed in. How could she disappoint them now?

"We'll go forth to Carvahall," She flicked her reins, setting her horse off at a steady trot. "Let me tell you about my childhood in one of the most beautiful places in all of Alagaesia."


	4. The Final Turn

**Long chapter ahead: sorry I tried to make it shorter!**

 **Lots of stuff going on; said that I wouldn't update until Friday, but that's too long of a wait, I lost a follower, and I really don't care about my last two finals that I have Monday. My graduation's on Wednesday, and then I'm free (until late August but we don't need to worry about that)!**

 **Read, Review, and Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Three: Aftermath

(Eragon POV)

He chose to sit outside on Gertrude's porch. The healer's house was nestled on a small hill right outside of the village. A few stones steps embedded into the hill led up to her home. The stable was at the foot, and there was an herb garden in the front, although now it was nothing more than a white blanket of snow covering the entire area. With its back towards the garden was her small healing hut, where she would spend some of her time preparing medicines and salves for the ill. Their footprints were implanted in a rather neat line that led towards the house. Snow covered the roof of Gertrude's home, her hut, and her stable, where three horses lay nestled quite warmly.

Eragon only took in the scenery for a moment before his thoughts turned towards the twins. Graceful were their features, their thin elfin faces, and ears that were nearly tampered at the end. They looked more like human Riders after years rather than young human children. Studying them closely, listening to Adrianna as she noticed ears that should have been hidden by magic, and feeling Adrian's baby-small mind touch his, then shrink away, made him realize that whoever these children were, they were not sired by Garrow. Unless an elf had come out of Du Weldenvarden and had an affair with Garrow's wife, an event highly unlikely, then there was only one reason.

They are the children of an Elfin Rider and Human Rider; they were the children of the Imperial Riders.

As soon as the thought came across in his mind, he discarded it. There were too many factors that disapproved of this statement. For one thing, Brom had informed him that Garrow had escaped from Galbatorix twenty years ago, and that the traitor king was furious to learn that his oldest servant was nowhere to be found. Garrow couldn't be raising children less than twenty years old. Another nagging feeling said otherwise as well. He couldn't believe that these children were spawn of some twisted Riders. There was something…just something about them which screamed some sort of purity, an otherworldly sense so familiar, and at the same time so foreign.

There was only one other possible choice for these children to be half-elfin and half-human. But…that incident had happened twenty-years ago, a little more than to be precise. It was around the same time that Garrow disappeared. Thoughts tumbled and jumbled over in his mind. There was a small tug coming from Saphira. Eragon stretched his mind out further, letting his thoughts and memories wash over her.

' _Little one,'_ Saphira hesitated as she understood where her Rider's thoughts were heading. ' _It would not do to keep your hopes up. However, if what you say is correct, than my joy may rival yours and Arya's. But take caution, little one, and do not let hope cloud your judgment.'_

' _I know,'_ Eragon could stop his hands from trembling. ' _But Saphira, if there's a chance, even a slight chance that it's true…there must be another reason that Father sent us to Carvahall. It just cannot be for Gertrude. There must be something else. Perhaps he suspects?'_

"A copper for your thoughts," Murtagh's voice broke his conversation with Saphira.

"The twins," Eragon simply explained "There's just something about them that I can't understand." He explained his thoughts to Murtagh as the older Rider sat next to him.

After he finished narrating his tale to Murtagh, he stopped, silently waited for his brother's reaction.

Finally "There was a chance that they'd…hatch or whatever you can call at a random time. As much as I'd like to know if it's true, that's a mystery we'll have to solve later," Murtagh answered firmly "First, we need to discuss Norfavrell. What of him? He wants to come with us. But if he's not a Rider, then what?"

"Garrow was never wrong," Eragon bit out, letting his opinion on the twins be tucked away to delve on another time "You know it's true as well as I do. He is the reason for the existence of most of the Imperial Riders. Norfavrell will be a Rider. The question is, when will the egg hatch for him, and do we have the dragon that would be bonded to him?"

"And does he even want to be a Rider," Murtagh added. "If he doesn't, I do not think that we should pressure him."

Eragon agreed, but they were running out of options. "We need to." There were a few unwilling Riders before the Fall; it was not a bond to be taken lightly of.

Murtagh tensed "Eragon-"

"What options do we have, Murtagh?" Eragon sighed in frustration. Switching to a dialect of the human language spoken by Palancar and his people, he added " _We can only hope that Norfavrell will accept. He's been alienated these past few months; company that will never let him feel alone will be welcome to him."_

Murtagh's lips lifted into a dry smirk. " _Is that an order, Lord Eragon?_ "

" _Must it be?_ " Eragon frowned at him " _I know it's lowly to manipulate others emotions. But we are desperate, Murtagh. We need more Riders."_

Murtagh barked out a laugh; short, dry and Eragon knew he was not amused " _But you are an expert on manipulating emotions, aren't you Eragon? Centuries of practice that you've had, Mahapaladin."_

Now Eragon tensed, freezing at the cold tone he heard in his brother's voice as he spoke a title Eragon hoped to leave behind. ' _Could it be possible that he thinks…that I manipulated him?'_ But he dismissed the thought; he knew Murtagh, more so in the past hundred years then all the centuries that they've spent together. The day Murtagh and Thorn left Galbatorix's services was a decision made by their own free will.

He felt a hand squeeze his shoulders "We came to you of our own free will," Murtagh's voice had considerably softened. "Although, being the two people we…tolerate the most," that was as close to a 'we love you' that Eragon heard Murtagh say in the recent decades "I suppose we can say that the two of you did manipulate us. But in a good way."

Eragon smiled at his brother, "Thanks, Tag," he replied in an equally soft tone. "We love you too."

(No One POV)

Beneath the walls of the mountain Farthen Dûr and high atop the city of Tronjheim in the abandoned area, an old man strode along the empty halls with a purpose. His left hand grasped a wooden staff, his cloak wiping about behind him. A small sack tied to his belt thumped against his right thigh, and his sword, Undbitr, banged against his left leg. That man had a purpose he must fulfill.

Brom, son of Holcomb, former Rider before the death of his beloved dragon Saphira the First, was nearly bursting with joy at the news he was about to reveal. He stretched his mind outwards, searching for the two beings he was seeking out. He found them not too far away, just around the corner, most likely in the room that they had taken up as their secret office. Pausing in front of two gigantic wooden doors, he rapped on them quickly, paused, and then entered the room.

A large green dragon, the size of a three-story farmhouse, lay curled up beside a desk. At the desk, a tall, beautiful elfin woman sat, studying reports brought over from spies and messengers unknown to the Varden. Her raven locks cascaded over her shoulders, and piercing green eyes seemed to fly as she read one report after another. She was clad in the black, leather clothes of mourning, as she had been for the past hundred years or so. She only paused in her reading when the man stopped in front of her desk, and she looked up, emerald green eyes betraying nothing.

"Arya," Brom greeted the Emerald Dragon Rider. He bowed to her dragon Fírnen, who dipped his head in return.

"Brom," she returned the greeting, raising an eyebrow at his smile. It only took her a moment to understand. The paper dropped from her hand. "They're coming!"

"Yes," Brom grinned at the elfin Rider. If human customs were followed, then she would have been his daughter-in-law by now. But he saw her as another daughter, particularly over the past century. "Yes, they're coming! Perhaps you should speak to him now?" Without waiting for an answer, he pulled out a mirror from the sack, and handed it to her.

The smiling face of her beloved peered at her. "Eragon," Arya smiled; a rarity to those who did now know her. " _It's seems as if you've finally decided to leave the forest._ " Her tongued rolled over the older form of the human tongue, one spoken by the early humans.

" _Odd, seeing as it was always you who was reluctant,_ " Eragon beamed, speaking in the same tongue, and then sobered as he remembered the information he was to give them. " _We shall reunite again in a few months, my love, but there is something I must inform both you and Father of._ "

Brom had come to stand by Arya at that point, and Fírnen had moved his head so he too could see into the mirror. " _Hello Fírnen_ ," Eragon greeted the emerald dragon, who blinked in reply.

Murtagh had squeezed into the mirror as well, it seemed, and exchanged greetings with the others. " _We're bringing three instead of two,_ " Murtagh picked up where Eragon left off. " _Apparently Garrow's youngest has a twin._ " He narrated the event that had taken place only short while prior.

Both Arya and Brom's face hardened at the end of it. " _I know that the humans have declined since the Dragon War, but to have been reduced to such depths?_ " Arya stated sharply, Fírnen growling behind her as if to emphasize her point.

" _People of Palancar Valley,_ " Brom grumbled " _As mad as old Palancar himself, they always were._ "

" _And there's the matter of whether or not an egg will hatch for the oldest boy, Norfavrell,_ " Eragon continued " _Though he and the twins are determined to leave, and I'm sure that with the right training, they can be valuable warriors for the Varden._ "

Brom glanced at Arya, before adding in a low tone " _I think…that it's best if you take your time coming to the Varden,_ " he notified them. " _The politics here will eat the children alive. Our contacts in Teirm will be able to house you for the next few months, under the guise of relatives visiting from Dauth. A man named Trevor in the village Daret has the papers and clothes for you to maintain the disguise. I'll arrange for the girl to have some papers and clothes as well. It shouldn't take any more than a week._ "

" _We'll start in two days in Carvahall than,_ " Eragon decided. " _Though I'd rather come out sooner than later. I don't think that the villagers were so keen on letting us stay with them, especially after the stunt we pulled earlier. I'm afraid that Gertrude may receive some trouble on our behalf._ "

" _She'll be fine,_ " Brom grunted " _It'll take a lot more than a few choice words to harm her. Besides, she's too valuable for the villagers to ignore her forever. She's been there for twenty years._ "

Eragon frowned, " _Twenty years…it all goes back to twenty years, doesn't it?_ " There was a somber moment of silence, each to their thoughts. It seemed that whatever issue was there right now, it all went back to that time. Garrow, Gertrude, the twins; it was easy to piece together what could have happened, but no were too sure. And no one wanted to get their hopes up.

" _From Carvahall, to Daret, to Teirm,_ " Murtagh broke the silence. " _From Teirm, just give us the signal, and we'll head over to the Varden._ "

" _Very well,_ " Brom answered " _Until the next time, then._ "

" _Wait,"_ Arya held up a report that she had been reading. " _According to our spies, the Imperial Riders seem to have no correlation as to their journeys, but a large number of them have been sighted in Kuasta. You must take care when you are travelling to Teirm. We cannot afford to have you seen just yet. Moreover, another one of our Teirm spies has valuable information that he cannot risk falling into anyone's hands. It is a matter he requested Brom to send someone to deal with."_

" _We'll take care of it,"_ Eragon nodded, " _Anything else?_ "

Arya put the report down " _You know from what guild our spies come from. Ask, and they will help you,_ " Arya's lips twitched into a small smile as she added " _Mahapaladin."_

" _Don't worry, Arya; Saphira and I will keep him out of trouble,"_ Murtagh assured her.

They exchanged their good-byes, and Eragon and Murtagh's face faded from view. Brom left the room, leaving Arya time alone to think with Fírnen.

(Garrow POV)

He could still see his face in his mind; that blank, Rider face, devoid of emotion except for that hint of anger that gleamed in his eyes. The conversation in Horst's house he barely heard, just a dim background noise for him, But he gazed around at the different people.

They were all Marian's side of the family. Marian was the oldest, followed by Horst, Birgit, and Byrd. They were all there with their families; everyone but Norfavrell and the twins were there. Usually, during her family reunions, it was an occasion of joy and celebration. For his reunions, it usually meant that they were trying to kill him. He was spared this time; only because Eragon and Murtagh couldn't afford to attract the King's attention.

Eragon and Murtagh were his older brothers; after them were the twins Helena and Sestina. He and his brothers came afterwards; they were triplets with Adrian as the oldest, he as second, and Roran as the youngest. He killed Roran and his dragon during the Dragon War, surprisingly with the aid of Murtagh and Thorn. And Eragon killed his dragon. He managed to live on in the King's service, eventually defeating Adrian and his dragon Gabriel as well. Then twenty years ago had happened, when he found the golden Eldunari.

The information they received that day, nearly twenty years ago, came from a reliable source. He only said that something of value was being transported; something of value to the elfin Princess Arya. Hence Garrow led a small company, he stole the item of value, he killed the guardian, and then he read the letter. He reported that the information was false, kept the Eldunari hidden, left the King's services, and settled in Carvahall, the home of his ancestors, including his great-grandfather King Palancar. He had felt his True Name change, for the most part, as he fell in love.

He had a son, whom he named Roran, and seven years later the twins had…arrived out of the golden heart-of-hearts. Marian had just lost her twins, but unbeknownst to her Garrow replaced them. Roran saw, of course, and he made the boy promise not to tell.

He raised them, but the fact that they weren't his children blared loud and clear, even if people didn't recognize it. Marian didn't love them as much as she should have. Roran had played with them, but he was much older than they were, and then he fell in love and now Sloan was holding Katrina's hand in marriage over his head. He kept the proof of course, that he'd taken the Eldunari. This morning, he had no idea what he was thinking of when grabbed the letter and the remains of the Eldunari. He felt that he needed it that day, and it proved to be true. Currently, the bag was nestled in front of the fireplace, unnoticed by all with just a simple spell.

"Garrow," Horst's voice broke the conversations around him. Garrow turned to face the blacksmith, arms crossed over his chest. "Do you know who those strangers are? Have you met them before?"

Everyone in the village knew that he had served the King, but left the army due to personal reasons. No one, not even Sloan, would betray him to anyone of the Empire. The one man they hate above all others was the King, and they would rather slit the throats of their own children rather than betray anyone to him.

"Yes," he answered shortly. After all, it was he who had known that Gertrude was a spy for the Varden, there to keep an eye on him. It was he who told her to relay the information about Norfavrell and Adrian. He knew that someone from the Varden would come. What he wasn't expecting was Eragon and Murtagh, or that they would arrive so quickly. "I assume that they plan to take Norfavrell and the twins. I say we let them; but I want compensation from Sloan for stealing the twins' right out of my house."

(Murtagh POV)

The only noise in the inn was the sound of people shifting around nervously. The thick tension in the room nearly choked him. Most of the villagers were there, as well as a few of the traders. They were all gathered around a large empty spot at the center, cleared of tables. The inn keeper, Morn, and his wife Tara, walked around handing out warm drinks.

Thorn sent him a tendril thought of curiosity, wondering what was going on. ' _Gertrude's apprentice, Balder, called us, saying that there was a meeting everyone was invited to,_ ' Murtagh sent him an image of the people gathered around the large empty space in the center; Sloan, a man Gertrude pointed out to be Horst, and a few other men of Carvahall sat across from them. He sat on Eragon's right side, with Gertrude on Eragon's left. Garrow sat next to Gertrude, and the three children sat in chairs behind them. He could feel their fear and nervousness rolling of off them, and silently applauded their resilience to appear calm and collective. To his left was the long bar, where shelves of beer and other drinks were stacked up behind them.

"So what justice do strangers seek for three witch-children?" Sloan, a butcher he found out, sneered at them. Murtagh took a deep breath.

' _Eragon told you not to kill him if it would have been obvious that you had done it_ , Thorn gently reminded his Rider.

 _I know Thorn; but still, do you think they'll believe he had a heart-attack? I'll make him live I swear._ He could feel Thorn's amusement, but his dragon did not respond; it was silent approval.

"Peace, Sloan," Horst said, turning towards Garrow "What are your complaints against Sloan Aldensson, Garrow son of none?" Son of none; yes, that suited the man perfectly.

Garrow stood up. "Sloan had broken into my home, and forcibly taken my children. He set them at the stake, declared them to be taken by the devil, and nearly burned them at the stake.

"For good reason!" Sloan defended himself "Those twins and that deviled cousin of theirs are dangerous to the village." There were murmurs of consent and doubt whispered among the gathering.

"Who are you to decide who should live and who should die?" Eragon questioned the man, his voice collected and leveled. "Are you a god, or a king to do so?"

Sloan growled "I acted with the permission of the families!"

"Birgit and Quimbly may have given you permission to kill their son, but I do not recall giving you permission to kill my children!" Garrow snapped. "Tell me, on whose authority did you decide to act so?" There was a ripple of unease, before a tall, bulky figure stood forth. Murtagh could recognize him instantly; the hard face and the stance looked like a non-Rider Garrow at a much younger age.

' _Garrow's other son,'_ Murtagh noted.

"I presume Sloan has offered you the hand of his daughter in exchange, Roran?" Garrow asked; his jaw was clenched. The Crimson Rider noted that Garrow did not look so surprised.

"Aye…father."

"And…and has he stood by his word?"

All attention redirected towards Sloan, who stood up to face Roran "You will not have my daughter, Garrowsson."

There were several shouts of protest at this; Roran looked ready to beat Sloan out, and he would have if it wasn't for the men that leapt up to stop him.

"Sloan you bastard!" Roran roared.

"That boy turned on his own family; how do I know he wouldn't do the same for my daughter?" Sloan looked a little too smug for a man in his position.

"I turned on the twins for Katrina!" Roran snarled "I turned on my family _for her!_ '

More arguing and shouts broke out. Murtagh stayed where he was, watching the scene unfold before him. ' _Are you going to do nothing?'_ Thorn asked.

' _I'm not the one who's going to do something,'_ Murtagh responded, taking a sip of his beer. ' _Just wait and see.'_

"ENOUGH!" In a voice louder than Horst's, Eragon managed to shut everyone up. All eyes turned towards him, staring wide-eyed at him. "Since no one in this village can seem to maintain some order, it seems that it has fallen to me to do so."

No one argued, though people looked a little peeved at his words. Eragon continued, pointing to Sloan who tried to speak "You allowed children to be harmed by that man with the aid of traders. That was enforcing with the aid of outsiders." Silence; Sloan looked away. Murtagh smirked, and took another sip of his beer; the scene was enjoyable. "Garrow, what is your claim against Sloan?"

Garrow glared at Sloan "For entering my house, nearly burning the twins at the stake, and now, for using my son's heart against him."

"And what say you to these accusations?" Eragon demanded of Sloan.

"I have nothing to say, stranger, only that I have no regrets, and you should keep your meddling to yourself; you have no jurisdiction here."

"He is a lord of Teirm," Gertrude spoke up. "There is no one better than him here to pass judgement. I can vouch for him."

Sloan snarled "You're an outsider; what business do you have with us?"

"If that's the gratitude you'll show towards a woman who has saved all of our lives, Sloan, and then I'll doubt you'll see through another winter," Horst spoke up. "Gertrude is a part of this village as much as you are; were not you and your wife Ismira from Theinsford?" Finally, someone with some sort of sense, Murtagh noted.

"Still, he is right," Eragon agreed with the despicable butcher, much to everyone's surprise "I have no right to lay down the laws in this village. I cannot give justice, but I do have a preposition for you, Garrow."

Garrow stiffened at being addressed, "And what's that?"

"You will not get the justice you deserve from this village," Murtagh began to see where Eragon was heading. His younger brother turned to face him "Sir Tornac?"

Murtagh stood up, beer in one hand, and holding the hilt of his sword with the other "My Lord Caleb." He handed the pint to Norfavrell

"Weren't you in need of squires? What of the boys?"

Murtagh motioned the two boys to stand in the middle. He walked around them, inspecting them. He noticed the slight muscle build in Adrian's upper arms. "Your bow, please my lord." Eragon handed over his bow and an arrow without complaint to Murtagh, who tossed it at Adrian.

The boy caught both arrow and bow rather quickly. "Nice reflexes, though they could be worked on." He commented "Draw the bow and aim it at the empty tankard on the counter."

Adrian did so, struggling with the effort of drawing the bow fully back. Other than that, his posture was correct, as well as his aim, "Fire."

The arrow fell short of the tankard, touching it before it clattered onto the ground "Good; now you, boy." He motioned for Adrianna to come forward "Pick her up."

Norfavrell looked confused "Pick her up? How?"

Murtagh stared at him "I'm not sure; how would you pick her up?"

Norfavrell placed Murtagh's tankard on an empty chair, and thought for a moment, before placing an arm around her shoulders and setting his other arm behind her knees. He picked her up rather easily "Strong lad," Murtagh commented "We could use boys like you. Keep holding her until we say otherwise." He turned towards Eragon. "They're both fine, my Lord; we have an archer and a knight in the making."

"He's a bloody poof!" Sloan shouted "What good will he do?"

Murtagh scowled at the derogatory term for a homosexual "Well, we wouldn't have to worry about bastard sons of prostitutes, now would we?"

"I will not allow you to take my children," Garrow stepped forward, his eyes blazing "They're not tools for the king."

"The boy has the potential to be a good archer," Eragon said coldly, stepping in front of him. "And as for the girl, Lady Gertrude's mother, the esteemed Lady Elizabeth, could always use the company of a young woman. The other boy, well no one wants him now, do they? We'll be taking the three unwanted children out of your hair. You may not like it, Garrow, but it is best in the hindsight of things. After all, would they rather live in a village where they're not wanted? What would happen to them after they are older?" Without waiting for an answer, Eragon headed towards Gertrude "My Lady?" he asked, offering his hand.

Gertrude looked surprised, before slowly shaking her head. "I'm afraid I must stay here to clear this matter up," she told him "I shall be joining you in an hour or so."

Eragon nodded "Very well then." He looked at Murtagh.

Murtagh nodded, and headed out the door "Don't put her down yet," he told Norfavrell "Her feet are burned rather badly. Help her until we get to the house. Adrian, don't forget the arrow."

Eragon waited until Adrian retrieved the arrow before headed out into the bitter cold. He wrapped his cloak around Norfavrell "I'm not cold," his younger brother said in a way of explanation when the boy looked up, confused. Murtagh did the same with Adrian.

The journey back to the house was made in silence. Eragon let Norfavrell walk up the stone steps first, placing a hand on his back to steady him. Once they were inside, he allowed Norfavrell to put Adrianna down, and made the children all sit on the couches.

"In two days, we'll be leaving." Eragon told them "If there is anything you need from your homes, you will have tomorrow only to get them. The day will be spent packing, and saying good-byes. We leave on the second day."

"Is it dangerous?" Norfavrell asked, slightly nauseous "In the outside world?"

Eragon hesitated "We'll protect you, and you'll be learning a few things while we travel. But before you head to sleep, Norfavrell," Eragon disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, and reappeared with the bag filled with dragon eggs. "I want you to chose one, and hold onto it until we say otherwise." He let the boy peek into the bag.

Norfavrell gasped at the contents. Almost immediately, he reached inside and pulled out the solid brown egg, with silver veins. It was a nice shade of brown to; not too murky, and Murtagh was sure that when the dragon hatched, he or she would have a tint of orange in the brown. Norfavrell stared at the egg in awe, his fingers rubbing against the hard, polished surface.

"What made you chose that on?" Eragon asked him.

The boy shrugged "It…The um stone just stuck out the most."

Eragon nodded "Off to bed, the three of you. We'll wake you again in a few hours to change your bandages." The trio of children walked up the stairs, no doubt heading towards the rooms that they were assigned to earlier that day.

Eragon sighed, and plopped down next to Murtagh on one of the smaller couches. He put his head on his hands "That was easier, and yet harder than I thought it would be."

(Eragon POV)

As soon as those words left his mouth, the door opened to reveal Gertrude and a determined Garrow behind her. For a moment, no one said a word as Gertrude shut the door behind them. Eragon stared at Garrow, a man many centuries younger than him, yet he looked the oldest out of everyone in the room.

Garrow stared right back, unwavering, determined, and stubborn. "Hello, big brother," he greeted softly.

" **You lost that right many years ago,** " Eragon told him firmly in the Ancient Language. " **The moment you joined the Forsworn, you were not our brother anymore.** "

" **Then there's no reason for me to stay,** " Before he could leave, Murtagh ran to block him at the door.

" **There are many reasons for you to stay,** " Murtagh contradicted. " **You need to answer our questions.** " He grabbed Garrow, and pushed him into a chair. With a spell, he kept him in place until it was their questioning was over.

" **Who are the twins to you?** " Eragon asked, not moving from his place on the couch. Gertrude took a seat on a chair nearby.

Garrow only stared at them with wide eyes. " **The children I've raised and come to care for, as my own.** "

Eragon knew this evasion tactic; they would only answer the questions as broad, hollow, and unhelpful as they could. But centuries of practice did not faze him in the least. " **How long were they with you, including the time they spent in a womb?** " He wasn't going to accept half-answer, and Garrow knew that; oh he knew that from personal experience.

Garrow clenched his jaw, glaring at Eragon, before he answered " **Twenty years.** "

It was easy; it was too easy. Nearly a million reasons why crossed his mind, but Eragon couldn't answer most of them. They were all speculation anyway. He moved towards Garrow, his footsteps echoing in the silent living room. He leaned forwards, hands gripping Garrow's bound wrists as he demanded, in a low, barely controlled voice " **And what happened, those twenty years ago? How did you obtain them?** "

What surprised him when he stared into his former-brother's eyes was the amount of shame that filled them. ' _He's a changed man,'_ Saphira noted, looking on through his eyes. ' _Ask him to tell you the full story._ '

" **Tell me the full story,** " Eragon ordered, leaving no room for argument. " **Tell me how you obtained them. Tell me about that incident twenty years ago. And tell me what changed in you.** "

Garrow closed his eyes, but did not turn his face away. In a low tone, still quite loud in Eragon's ears, he replied " **I was ashamed when I killed the elf. If, by the end of this tale, you don't believe me, than take a look in the bag on my lap. That should hold all the proof that you need. But before I tell you my tale, I will tell you first what changed in me; my True Name.** "

* * *

 **So...what did you guys think? That bromance moment between Eragon and Murtagh was a random decision. And I'll explain in full detail what both Arya and Murtagh are referring to.**


	5. Arya's Letter

**Help!**

 **I'm stuck on the next chapter, and I'm not really sure how to reveal a certain secret...It's almost finished, I only have that section left to do. Please PM me if you wish to help!**

 **In the meantime, here's a letter from Arya to Faolin.**

* * *

7979 AC The 79th Year in the Reign of Galbatorix

 _My dear Faolin,_

 _Oft you have asked me why I deny you. Oft I reply with an answer that I know is unsatisfying to you; I am still in love with my beloved Eragon._

 _That which I am about to confide in you is of the upmost importance, and must be kept secret. The only others who know of this is our two respected elders, my mother, my brother and Brom. You will be the sixth besides me to know. Know that everything written in this letter is truth; read it out loud if you must confirm it._

 _Nearly eighty-years ago, news reached me of the death of my beloved, my friend, and my father. By then, I was three months pregnant. The stress caused me to nearly lose my children; yes I was impregnated._

 _But one of our respected elders stepped in. He encased the dying fetuses in a golden orb, where they lay protected even today. Slowly, they are maturing. To be able to see what happens in a womb would become the sight for many who are interested._

 _At first we thought that there was only one fetus, a male as we later found out. But as time progressed, we found two other fetuses; they were twins. Slowly the three have developed over the past years. And they are still developing inside this golden womb._

 _For decades I have kept watch over them in secret. But now, due to the increase duties as a Rider that have suddenly been gifted upon me, I cannot watch over them as much as I wish. I have given up my role as Ambassador of the Elves, a role which I gladly give to Glenwing Könungru._

 _I ask that you take my children to their father, Eragon. Yes this is another secret that you must keep, only known to myself, our elders, and Brom. Eragon and Saphira are still alive. They did not pass at the battle of Uru'baen as many believe. The need for this secrecy is of the utter most importance. They must remain hidden until the time comes for them to fully heal and aid the people. No one is ready for them; the Free Nations seek their own ploys and policies, each to their own gain so that they may emerge from this victorious over others._

 _They have yet to be born, but I have already chosen names for them; Nekoda Freyr for the oldest, Selena Tarmunora for the daughter twin, and Evander Olwen for the son twin. They are three children of the Houses of Elaruilhar, my own house, and of Palancar, Eragon's house. They are descended from both the royalties of the elves and the humans. They have a heavy destiny on their shoulders, and can do great deeds once they are born._

 _Hence, I ask that you watch over my children until such a time as to when they are born. Then, regardless of my new duties, I will raise them. Please forgive me for suddenly thrusting this task upon you. You are one of the few that I can fully trust, and it has nothing to do with your feelings for me. We are kindred spirits, Faolin, and we both fight in a battle where dawn may not rise for us. You are a dear friend, and as a friend I ask you to complete this task for me._

 _Rider of the Emerald Dragon,_

 _Arya of the House of Elaruilhar_


	6. The Truth

**Hey!**

 **So, I said that the update would have been on Sunday, but I'm busy tomorrow, so I just did a quick review of this chapter, and am posting it up today!**

 **Unfortunately, they won't be leaving Carvahall until the next chapter. But that's all I'm say about the chapter for now!**

 **Special thanks to Elemental Dragon Slayer for helping me with this chapter!**

 **Read, Review (pretty please?) and Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter four:

(Eragon POV)

Garrow's reply kept him up all night. The letter Garrow gave him as proof was clutched in his hands. He read, and reread it. He cast spells to make sure that it was real. Murtagh had sat next to him, a hand right below the nape of his neck, giving him silent comfort and support. In his other hand, Murtagh held a book open to a page, but Eragon knew that he hadn't turned a page for half an hour now. Gertrude had gone to bed long before, and Garrow had left in the cold of the night. When they heard a cry of pain, Murtagh was the first to move, not hesitating as he went into the kitchen. Eragon heard him rummaging about, but it wasn't until he realized that Murtagh was at the top of the stairs that he moved. He couldn't recall walking up the stairs; everything felt like a dream to him. He felt as if he was watching himself from a great distance, someone he recognized, and yet at the same time he couldn't.

He suddenly found himself in the doorway to Norfavrell's room, staring at the most beautiful sight he'd often seen. A young child, sitting on the bed, bathed in the moonlight, with a small dragon by his legs. Eragon couldn't focus on the scene before him though; he wondered if he should tell them, the children. Should he? Should he dare? They grew up as village children, with families of their own. Life for the twins was difficult; he had no doubt that they would rejoice. But still, they saw Garrow as their father. Their life now was relatively peaceful compared to the one Eragon was about to thrust him into, even as they lived under the Traitor's reign and death was inevitable every winter.

Would telling them hurt more, or would it actually help? Of course, their entire childhood would have been a lie. All that they've gone through…what would they think? But perhaps they'll feel relieved, rejoice almost. But what would they actually feel, how would they react?

He hadn't known that he had moved, or that he had talked until he felt a hand on his. Eragon blinked, and found himself sitting at the edge of Norfavrell's bed, with the boy putting the tips of his finger on Eragon's palm. The Sapphire Rider smiled at Norfavrell, but the pain in his chest became too unbearable. He nodded once, and then left the room. He bumped into the twins outside. Adrianna (but Arya had given her another name) asked him if Norfavrell was alright. Both of their eyes were wide with fear. Eragon could see the resemblance now; their chins, their eye shape, their complexion were all Arya's. He couldn't dwell on it now; he couldn't bear to be there for another minute. The fear, the hurt was choking him. He gave them assurance that their 'cousin' was fine, and then left.

He headed outside; out through the back door of Gertrude's house, away from all the commotion. He covered his mouth with his hand, trying so hard not to cry lest anyone heard him.

Adrianna and Adrian; the children of him and Arya, conceived a hundred years ago, but miraculously saved when Glaedr, one of the few surviving dragons not under the King, used his magic to protect them by encasing them in his Eldunari. Dragons using magic was rare enough; but what Glaedr did most would consider impossible, even by the standards of dragon magic. When Arya became a Rider, twenty years ago, she entrusted to Faolin, her friend, to carry them into the Spine, so that they would be able to be protected by their father, uncle, and the dragons. But somehow the news leaked; Faolin was attacked and killed. The Eldunari with their children was stolen. They mourned. Arya took it to heart the most though; she felt that she had failed as a mother. Eragon wondered if being an elf, from a race who adores life, made those feelings ten times as bad for her.

As for the third child, technically the eldest, what Garrow had done to earn his freedom infuriated him. The oldest, Nekoda Freyr, has developed enough in the false womb to have been born shortly after Garrow had stolen them. It did not take Eragon long to figure out where his son went to, the man he was forced to serve. Garrow sold him for his own freedom, sold him to the king.

Nekoda Freyr, Selena Tarmunora and Evander Olwen; these were the names that he and Arya had chosen. What happened to Nekoda Freyr? Did the Traitor kill him once he had his hands on him, or did he turn him into a weapon?

The news that at least two of their children lived would be of joyous occasion to Arya; but was it kinder? Could she bear to know who they were if it was decided that the children shouldn't know? Could she bear to know that one of her children was dead, or worse enslaved?

"Eragon?" Murtagh's voice broke him from his thoughts. His brother wrapped a cloak around him, "You need to let Saphira in," his brother whispered. "She needs to know too."

Eragon didn't realize that he blocked out the partner of his mind-and-soul. He lowered his mental barriers, but only enough so none but Saphira could pass through. He felt her emotions mixed in with his; shock, joy, sorrow, and understanding of her Rider's feelings. ' _Fear not, little one,_ ' she comforted her Rider, ' _I believe that they may be much more relieved to know their true parentage then you think._ ' His body felt warmer as he felt Murtagh pull him closer, so that Eragon's forehead was pressed against the crook of his neck. One arm wrapped around Eragon's back, and the other hand gently ran through Eragon's brown hair.

Eragon gripped the front of Murtagh's shirt "I'll tell Arya now," he whispered. "She'll still be awake. If not her, then I'll tell Brom and he can tell her as soon as she awakes. I won't delay it."

(Norfavrell POV)

When he went to bed that night, he laid down exhausted. The day was spent packing his bags, and helping the others pack bags that they would all need. The only thing Norfavrell knew for sure was that they would be buying horses in Theinsford.

He wrapped the brown stone in his arms as he lay down. In the bag he had seen other stones: black with silver etchings, a white with blue etchings and purple that had ivory etchings. Each of them was uniquely beautiful, but it was the brown one that stuck out to him the most. It reminded him of that one time in spring, when he went over to Garrow's farm, and he and the twins explored the empty fields that day. It was a good year, he remembered, the best year for farming that he'd ever seen in his short life-time. Neither of the two men, Eragon and Murtagh, or Lord Caleb and Sir Tornac as they were called in public, told him why he was offered a stone and not the others, he noticed. But he brushed that aside, pulling the stone closer to him. It weighed much lighter than he expected a stone that size to weigh, and it was much warmer too, as if it had a small fire burning in the center.

He did not know when he drifted off to sleep only that he was woken up by the stone shaking and quivering in his arms. ' _What's going on,'_ Norfavrell edged away from the stone, pressing his back against the wall. The stone rattled, and tumbled about, landing on the floor. ' _Not a stone…but an egg!'_

He feared he knew what type of egg it was. He feared he knew who Eragon and Murtagh were. _'Imperial Riders,'_ His heart pounded in his chest and his breath growing heavy. Would they force him to join? Is that why they were here? After all, they did say that they were nobles, and Galbatorix has his Imperial Riders in every major city. He listened in anticipation as he heard the egg break, and the tiny croaking of an animal. It sounded like a kitten mewing; a kitten with a sore throat. The noises soon stopped, and all he could hear was the tiny _click, click, click_ of nails against wood. He leaned forward, bringing his head over the edge of the bed, and peering down at the dragon, which lay beneath his bed.

His head cast a shadow in the moonlight. The dragon turned to stare at him, brilliant orange eyes staring back at him. Its head was tilted, and he was reminded of a cat that saw something that intrigued it. The dragon leapt forward, and he whipped his head backwards to avoid being mauled. It skidded on the floor before coming to a halt as it bumped into the dresser. Norfavrell stared at it. Its brown scales, the exact shade of the egg shell, glowed in the moonlight that shone through the window. Despite his earlier fears of becoming an Imperial Rider, he thought that the dragon was beautiful. Maybe, if he just quietly walked out of the house and let it go in the wild.

"Come here," he whispered softly, holding out his left hand. "Come here, I won't hurt you." The brown dragon stared at him for a moment, before confidently walking towards him, as if that was its plan all along. Norfavrell stretched his arm out further, until his fingers brushed the tip of the dragon.

A sharp pain bolted from his fingers, up his arms, and into his head. He gave out a sharp cry, elbow banging on the bed frame as he jerked it away from the dragon.

His vision lost focus, and his world went dark.

The first feeling he felt was the small nudges of something rough against his forehead. He lifted his head to see the brown dragon staring curiously at him. He scrambled up, away from the dragon, once again pressing his back against the wall. "What did you do?" he wanted to hiss at the dragon, but it came out more like a half-hearted chastisement. The dragon leapt up onto the bed. And that was when he felt something.

There was a tiny pressure on his mind. Somehow, his instinct perhaps, he knew that it came from the dragon. "Is that you?" he wondered, more curious than angry or frightened. He stretched his left hand out towards the dragon again when a sliver glint caught his eye. He twisted his hand palm up, and stared at a silver oval that popped up out of seemingly nowhere. "What _did_ you do?" he asked again, perplexed. There was still a small tingling in his hand, but that faded as he opened and closed it. The dragon made a sound almost like a mew, and rested its head on his knee. "You're…hungry," he noted. "I suppose I'll have to sneak you some food before I let you out into the wild." Even as he said the last few words, he knew that he would never do that.

The door opened, and he looked up, alarmed. Standing in the doorway, with a small bag in his hand, was Murtagh. The man's gray eyes softened as they first looked at the dragon, and then Norfavrell, who tried not to blush; after all the older man was rather attractive. In one hand was a small bag, and in the other was a book. "Take this," Murtagh tossed the bag so that it landed to Norfavrell's side. He opened it, and found a surprisingly large amount of meat. He took a strip and tossed it to the dragon, which snatched it up in the air and ate it greedily. Piece by piece the dragon ate every bit until it finally plopped down on the bed with what sounded like a soft sigh.

At the sound of more footsteps, Norfavrell looked up again at the doorway. Eragon appeared this time, placing a hand on Murtagh's shoulder to let him pass through. The other man, with blue eyes speckled red and green, stopped at the foot of his bed, and sat down. He stared at the new Rider for a few moments, making the younger of the two look away to stare at his dragon. The dragon curled up, again very much like a cat, and slumbered away.

"Welcome, Norfavrell," said boy looked up. Eragon had a glazed look in his eyes. He extended his right hand forward, displaying an oval on it much like Norfavrell's, though it was gold rather than silver. "I bid you welcome to the New Order of the Dragon Riders.

(Murtagh POV)

Breakfast that morning was a rather nice affair, with the three children making it lively. The twins' burns were nearly healed, as they weren't so serious in the first place. The whip marks on Norfavrell's back were still bright scars, but Norfavrell said that they didn't hurt. Murtagh made a mental note to finish healing those scars once they were away from the village.

They chatted amongst themselves, seemingly brighter than the day before. All three helped Gertrude set the table; in reality, the only thing that Gertrude had done was cook the bacon. Adrianna (' _Selena Tarmunora, my niece'_ ) made the eggs and toasted the bread. Norfavrell set the table, with help from Adrian (' _Evander Olwen, my nephew'_ ), who also poured out the milk, after being assured that just because he and Eragon were 'nobles' that didn't mean they wanted to drink wine or beer with every meal. The meal was eaten in silence at first, until Adrianna asked Norfavrell "What's that on your hand?"

The newly-made Rider tensed and glanced at Eragon, as if to ask him permission. Eragon was silent all morning, and even know he didn't look up as he twirled a fork in his scrambled eggs. "Eat your breakfast, and then I'll tell you what you need to know. Gertrude, please take them to the study afterwards."

Murtagh was almost amused at how quickly the children ate. Gertrude ushered them all to the study upstairs, barely used unless she wanted to give Brom updates on Garrow she told them. She handed Norfavrell a sack of meat for his dragon; Murtagh had told her about Norfavrell's dragon last night, when she rushed out of her room to see what was going on. As soon as the others had left, Murtagh grabbed Eragon's arm, pulled him up, and slapped him.

Well, Eragon certainly looked shocked at the action "You told Arya last night, and the two of you agreed to tell them as soon as possible," Murtagh said plainly. "Now don't make it too complicated. Don't let your emotions cloud your judgment. You were-and still are- the Mahapaladin of The Guild of Bid'Daum. You are the Head of the New Order. The world has only gotten worse since we hid. You need to keep your head about you, or you'll have two Riders, and three dragons to answer to."

The Guild of Bid'Daum; while the rest of the Riders were largely scholars, soldier-diplomats, and healers, those of the Guild were of a different kind. They consisted of Riders, Dragons, and a few members of all the races of Alagaesia, save for the Urgals and the Ra'Zac. They were not diplomats; they were warriors, scholars, healers, assassins and anything else that was required. They were the ones who watched the watchers of the land. They were the ones who kept those with power, both in the hierarchies of each race, as well as the monsters and demons with 'supernatural' powers, in check. They fought battles in the shadows, their movements working beneath the major events of the day. He and Thorn were members; Arya was a member; Brom was a member; Selena was a member; many others were members, some of whom are survived by their descendents today. Eragon and Saphira became their leaders, the best of the best, the Mahapaladin and the Mahashakti.

And Galbatorix would have been a member, if Eragon and Saphira hadn't taken the advice of their seniors and friends, Oromis and Glaedr.

Eragon continued to stare dumbfounded at his older brother, but he chuckled. Murtagh relaxed, his shoulder sinking in relief. "Yeah," Eragon shook his head "I need to-"he took a deep breath, and nodded at Murtagh. The Crimson Rider followed the Sapphire Rider up the stairs, and into the study.

(Adrian POV)

Adrian couldn't stop staring at the brown dragon that lay curled up in Norfavrell's lap.

"I-I don't understand," Adrianna started, puzzled.

"A-are they Im-Imperial Riders?" The three other occupants turned towards him in shock. He didn't stutter as much as he normally did. His only explanation for it was that ever since the arrival of Eragon and Murtagh, he felt calmer, safer. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"No," Gertrude replied, returning her attention to the brown dragon. "I can assure you they're not. War is coming soon, children, and I fear that all three of you are about to be thrust into it."

"Why?" Adrianna almost demanded.

"Good question," a different voice sounded from the doorway. Eragon appeared with his right cheek oddly red, and Murtagh right behind him "And I'm afraid that some answers I have no right to say or I do not have. But this much I can tell you. Norfavrell is found to have certain qualities that make him a potential Dragon Rider. For the egg to hatch for him so soon though, it was unexpected. As for Adrian," Eragon turned to face him.

Adrian lowered his eyes, not daring to meet the older man's. The day before when he woke up being carried by a strong man, he panicked and stretched his mind out to see his intentions. He certainly hadn't expected to find what he found; a vast mind, strange and foreign, unlike any that he'd felt before. It was a mind that pushed his back into his head, and told him not to worry. He recalled the suddenly sense of peace and acceptance that flooded through him, as if he knew that this man wouldn't dare to harm him. "Th-they know," he answered an unasked question "a-about me."

Adrianna, who chose to sit next to him, stiffened. "Who told you?" she demanded, scooting closer to him and taking his hand. Her face drained of any emotion, but Adrian knew, without even looking, that her eyes were blazing with anger. "How did you know?"

"I told them," Gertrude replied. "There's a thing or two I know about Adrian's skills, and I must say that you are, Adrian, quite powerful for one as young as you are. I do not know how much you are skilled, but it is important that you find a teacher to teach you before you take it too far."

"Even Adrianna is not talentless. She possess a certain set of skills I've only seen once or twice before, and that was a long time ago." Eragon faced Adrianna. "You can see through magic, through spells and enchantments. You saw through my disguise. Don't you recall asking if I was an elf?"

Adrianna nodded, staring at Eragon and Murtagh. She had told him all of that last night, but he didn't believe her. After all, they both looked like regular, normal humans ' _But are they?'_ he wondered. ' _I don't think they are.'_

"So…are you human?" Norfavrell asked.

Eragon chuckled, "No, but I think you know who we are, Norfavrell." Now the two men, or whatever they were, held their right palms out. On Eragon's was a golden orb. On Murtagh's was a silver one. Norfavrell turned his palm upwards, and Adrian saw the same silver orb as Murtagh's was. He caught both of their lips twitching rapidly, but dismissed it as a figment of his imagination until he too saw what Adrianna must have seen; their faces became slightly more angled, and their ears tapered.

"You're Dragon Riders!" Adrianna exclaimed.

Eragon smiled warmly at the twins. "I am the Head of the New Order of Dragon Riders. And my brother," here he put a hand on Murtagh's shoulder, "is an Elder of the New Order. The New Order of Dragon Riders exists to oppose the Empire. Norfavrell has become our new apprentice."

"Y-your dra-dragons," Adrian leaned forward. "Wh-where are they?" He heard from Gertrude, as well as a story-teller from the traders who was never seen again, of the might, the power, and the beauty of the Dragon Riders before the Fall. They were nothing like the Imperial Riders, who follow the King's words, who fight each other in order to gain dominance. They kept order in the land, and they kept peace.

"You'll see them once we reach the end of the Valley," Eragon promised. His smile wavered and he took a seat for the first time. Murtagh stood dutifully behind him. He leaned back in the armchair, running a hand through his brown hair. "There's something else that you, the twins, need to know."

The tone of his voice stirred something in Adrian. He felt…anxious, nervous even. It was as if a long-lost secret was going to be revealed, and then everything would change ( **A/N when the Fire Nation attacked** ). "N-no," the word was out of his mouth before he could even stop himself.

His face grew red as everyone in the room stared at him, again. "Why not, Adrian," Gertrude asked him kindly.

Adrian shook his head, "N-never mind." He mumbled.

Eragon leaned forward, looking intently at the twins, seeking for a reaction. "Garrow…Garrow is not your father," he started off.

"What!" Both he and Adrianna cried out loud, stunned. Yet the sentence did not faze him as much as he felt it should have. He reached out to Adrianna in his mind.

' _Roran said we came out of a golden ball,'_ he told her. ' _Do you remember that?_ '

Adrianna nodded, wide-eyed, and told Eragon what their 'older brother' had told them once when he was really mad at them. He keeps on bringing it up every now and then, and even the twins started to wonder if it was true.

Eragon shook his head "He's not far off," the Rider-it was odd to think that-told them softly. "You did come out of a golden orb, but I assure you that…that your real parents love you very much. They….they miss you, and would like you to know that they love you, and are eager for the day that you are reunited with them."

Murtagh smacked Eragon on the head, and Adrian jumped at the unexpected noise. "Wait a minute," Norfavrell said slowly. The brown dragon in his lap looked up at its Rider, and the hopped off his lap. It made its way towards Eragon sniffed him once, mewled like a cat with a sore throat, and then went on to explore the study. "You said that you were brothers; I usually slap my brothers when they do something stupid."

"Glad we're alike in that case," Murtagh drawled, speaking up for the first time. The gray eyed man glanced at Eragon, and then at the twins. Adrian frowned.

"Does…does that mean…that Eragon is the twins' father?"

 _That_ was unexpected.

"Wait a minute!" Adrianna leapt up into the air, forgetting that she was still holding his hand. Adrian's free arm flailed, trying to hold onto the couch, failed, and he landed on his knees.

He glared at Adrianna, but she was too busy gawking at Norfavrell "How did you get that out of a simple slap on the head?! Honestly!"

Eragon cleared his throat, bringing everyone's attention on him again. Adrian noticed how Gertrude had a small smile on her face. "He's not wrong," he turned towards the twins, his face solemn. "Adrianna, Adrian, I am your real, that is your birth father."

None spoke a word. Even the little brown dragon seemed to have noticed that something was wrong. It stood up on the desk, stiff, and stared at the other occupants of the room.

"No," Once again, the word came out before he noticed. He didn't know how to feel; anger, hurt, relief, joy, bitterness all twirled around inside of him.

Where was he when the other village children made fun of him and Adrianna?

Where was he when Marian hit them?

Where was he when Roran left them by themselves, too old to play with them?

Where was he when others ridiculed them, when they were talked about, whispered about?

He was a Rider for crying out loud! He could have saved them! He could have protected their crops and…and

But he came when they were about to be burned. He said that he would take them away. He said that he and their real mother, whoever and wherever she was, loved them.

Why were they sent away? Why did he show up, telling them their entire childhood was a lie?

But…he showed up and told them their family was not their family; their family actually loved them.

"Where were you?" Adrianna demanded, her grip tightening on Adrian's hand. He looked down at the blurred floor, and watched as each tear fell one by one.

"I was hiding, healing."

Adrian heard the creak of the armchair, and soft footsteps. Brown, worn but well made boots stopped just at the edge of his vision. "I know that's not an excuse. But I did not even know my children were alive until last night. Would I have come out sooner if I had? No, but someone would have been sent for you, and they would have brought you to me. For twenty years…" his voice trailed off.

That seemed like a long time to him. But they came out of a golden orb.

"The golden orb," Adrianna whispered, asking question.

"There were complications when your mother was impregnated with you," Eragon's voice answered her. "The orb was there to protect you."

"G-Garrow st-stole u-us" Adrian hiccupped, "H-he w-worked f-f-for th-the k-k-ing." After all, if they opposed the King, then it was a reasonable explanation. It wasn't an unknown fact that Garrow worked for the King either.

"Yes he did," Eragon-his _father_ -confirmed in the same gentle tone he'd been using throughout the entire conversation. When had Garrow ever spoken to them as softly?

Adrian felt his arm jerk and a soft _thump_ as Adrianna flung herself at their newfound father. He could hear her cry. He looked up to see Adrianna with one arm wrapped around Eragon-Father-sobbing. And Father…he had his hand on her head, but he looked at Adrian with the softest, gentlest expression Adrian had ever seen. Eragon held out another hand towards him, and Adrian accepted it, allowing himself to be pulled into the embrace.

But he wasn't sure as to how he felt.

(Norfavrell POV)

To say that he was shocked was an understatement. Murtagh motioned him to follow, and with a few words in a strange tongue to his brown dragon, left the room. Gertrude followed him. Norfavrell cast a glance at the hugging trio, before leaving the room hearing the _click, click, click_ as his brown dragon followed.

"You're their uncle," Norfavrell realized that Eragon had called Murtagh his brother. "Shouldn't you be in there as well?"

"Not now," the gray-eyed Rider said. "They need their space. Until they come out, it's time for you and me to talk about your curriculum."

"My what?" Norfavrell asked, perplexed.

Murtagh didn't say other word until he opened the door to the bedroom that Norfavrell had slept in last night. "I'll leave you two to it then," Gertrude said in the doorway. "There are chores that I must finish." She nodded at Murtagh, and then left.

"Your training," Murtagh explained, taking a seat in the wooden chair. Norfavrell sat on his bed. "First off, keep talking to your dragon, about anything and everything. You may have to show pictures in his or her mind for the dragon to understand. Around two-three months and your dragon will start speaking. That is when you'll give him or her a name."

"Dragons speak?" Norfavrell asked, astonished.

"Well, yes," Murtagh replied casually "The dragons of the Forsworn couldn't, however, and I'm not sure if the current Imperial dragons can. Why, it's another story for a different time. In the meantime, your training starts with Tuatha du Orothrim, or the Taming of Ignorance. It's the first step in a Rider's training, and you must finish if before we head to the Varden, which will be in a few months time."

"Why so long?" he asked, wondering just how far the Varden was.

"Politics," was his only reply. "We'll leave tomorrow. When we reach the end of Palancar Valley, you can meet our dragons."

"So what do we do now?" he questioned.

Murtagh smirked "Now? We start your training. How about we start with the history of the Dragon Riders?"


	7. Through the Valley

**Yes, they're out of Carvahall! Next chapter I hope to pick up the pace. They'll be in Daret then Teirm then the Varden then something about dragons and elves and family and all that good stuff! And nothing was as it seemed.**

 **Read, Review and Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Five: Through the Valley

(Eragon POV)

The twins were mad, and Eragon couldn't blame them. It was a shocking truth, and he too wouldn't know what to do with a man who says he is his actual father. He hugged them only once, before the rest of the day was spent packing for their journey. They did not look at him, or at Murtagh, silently doing their assigned tasks without question. Selena Tarmunora, Adrianna, warmed up slightly towards dinnertime, speaking to them. But Evander Olwen, Adrian, still said nothing.

It was interesting to see their reaction though, when Garrow and Roran dropped by to see them off. Garrow had arrived with a large, trunk, and Eragon recognized the faded, twisted red flame on it. Roran had carried two smaller bags, and he handed them to the twins. "There're your clothes," the young boy said

' _Man in human standards,'_ Eragon corrected himself.

The twins silently accepted the bags, but said nothing. "I-I know that you can never forgive me," Roran continued "But-"

Evander turned away, marching up the stairs. Selena frowned at Roran before following her brother upstairs.

"Give them time," Eragon told Roran, though he was fuming inside. "They'll understand why their older brother betrayed them."

"They can't ever forgive me, can they?" Roran asked bitterly, crossing his arms.

"Should have thought twice before you betrayed them," Murtagh said, opening Garrow's trunk. "Not all people forgive betrayal from family easily."

"If I had to do it all over again-"

"Everything would turn out the same," Garrow interjected rather bitterly "You love Katrina too much to let her go, though I don't doubt that the decision would have been harder for you if it had been either me or Marian you had to betray."

"I suppose we're getting all of these?" Murtagh spoke before Roran could reply. Eragon walked to his brother's side, kneeling next to him.

Inside the trunk was a dark lilac scabbard, with a leather grip, a bronze-colored cross guard, and a dark lilac stone, held in place by a bronze metal. The chape and the locket of the scabbard were bronze as well. A black symbol meaning Guliä, or 'luck' in the human tongue, had been etched onto the scabbard. Next, there was a quiver with three dozen arrows inside and an unstrung bow, all made for a Rider's strength. There were three daggers lying next to the bow, looking very much like a miniature version of the sword, but in three different colors; dark lilac, honey-colored, and rich brown that matched Norfavrell's dragon. They were all twenty inches, rather long for daggers, but still too short to be swords. None of them had symbols engraved onto them. Five notebooks lay nestled in a corner.

' _Cautious, little one,'_ Saphira warned. ' _You do not know what spells lay on them.'_

Eragon ran through a list of spells to detect if there were any, ' _There are none.'_ He concluded. "Keep your sword," He didn't touch the cursed blade. "We'll take the rest with us."

"You'll need something to carry all of those books in," Garrow pointed out.

"We have bags to spare," Eragon replied evenly. His opinion of Garrow hadn't changed at all, especially since he found out what he had done with Nekoda. "Keep your blade with you."

Murtagh pulled out Guliä and tossed it to Garrow, who caught it with an expert hand. In one swift motion, he pulled the blade out and swung it, as if he was testing it. His strength wasn't what it was years ago, Eragon noted, and he was much weaker than before, as well as lacking the grace but not skill of a Rider. But to Roran Garrow had display an awesome show of skill. The boy gaped at his father's display.

"It's been nearly two decades," Garrow muttered, his eyes studying the sword as he flipped it over and over in his hand. "I hope I'll never have to use this again."

"Yet, I heard the Varden are amassing forces right now," Eragon offered in a casual manner, slightly taunting him.

Garrow's eyes grew slightly dark "Ask around, Lord Caleb, and you'll see that the Varden are nothing more than a myth, a tale to keep hope for your children."

"But what about the battle above Gil'ead," Roran prompted "Several traders were talking about it last night. They said that three Imperial Riders fought against five other Riders, Riders whose dragons looked different."

"Galbatorix often has his Imperial Riders fight each other," Garrow told his son. "It's probably nothing different than that."

Roran looked like he wanted to argue, but restrained himself. "You'd be surprised," Eragon spoke in his place "A lot of changes could have happened in twenty years, Garrow."

"A lot more happened in a hundred," Garrow shot back, as if in warning. Eragon narrowed his eyes, but didn't contradict him. From the moment he had stepped out of the Spine he had noticed that the land changed. How bad it was, he couldn't tell.

Footsteps entered the living room, and Eragon turned to find Gertrude "Dinner's ready," she said. "Roran, Garrow, will you two be joining us?" she asked out of politeness.

"I'm afraid that we must decline," Garrow replied. "Horst has invited us over. I hope to hell that this will be the last that I'll see of you." Before he could leave, Eragon ran over to him, and grabbed his arm.

"War will come, Garrow son of None," Eragon bit out, trying hard not to snarl "When it does, you will need to chose a side."

His face remained blank, but in his eyes Eragon could see the fear and angry residing in him. " **I choose to fight for the New Order.** " He shot back in a low voice, much to Eragon's surprise.

But the older Rider only tightened his grip. " **Even if it means that you will face judgment for the crimes that you have committed?** " He searched Garrow's face, looking for any sign of a lapse in concentration.

Garrow's blank face wavered, his jaw clenching and unclenching, a few drops of sweat appearing on his brow " **Yes,** " he finally answered " **Even if it meant having judgment pass on me for my past crimes**."

(Third Person POV)

Tall, with brown hair that barely reached over his hairline, and a scruff of a beard that started to show. Cold, emotionless were his green eyes. His posture was tall and stiff, feet moving in a half-march. An emerald sword hung by his side. His cape was black with the bottom end nipping at his heals as he hurried down the hallway. The twisted flame of the Empire was embroidered on the back of the cape. He wore leather armor, a constant in his attire. A small silver crown rested on his head. He paused for half a second before the doors to the throne room opened.

The throne room was large and hollow, with a white marble floor, and ash-black walls. The throne itself was at the far end, raised on a dais, overlooking the empty room.

' _Empty room, empty kingdom,'_ the man, twenty years old, thought behind the iron-gates that defended his mind. None could penetrate it; only the king could, and it had been years since he had done so.

The sound of his footsteps was hidden underneath the heavy breathing of Shruikan, the black dragon. He wondered why he was spared being deprived of name and self while the other dragons of the Forsworn were not, a fact not known to the general public.

Oh yes, he was quite educated. The king saw to his education, personally taught him in fact. It was the king who taught him and his brother magic, swordsmanship, and the ways of the court. It was the king who taught them what happens in bed with a woman, a man, or with as many as they liked. It was the king who told them that they were being abused, that they were the king's servant-whore under the guise of the princes, who did his bidding, as punishment for the sins of their birth parents. It was the king who reminded them of the filth they were to the man, that every moment they were being disciplined was done in horrendous, inhumane, abusive ways.

And what choice did they have but to let the king to his wish with them?

"Ah, there you are," Galbatorix's smooth, calming voice eased his grated nerves, but in the depths of his mind, he growled and screamed. He hated that voice. He hated that man. But he had no choice but to obey. "Your twenty-first birthday is coming up, and I plan to make you two the crown princes then." Of course, the nobles would like that. They did not know that they were the servant-whores of the king. All they saw were kinder men then his father. And they didn't even know that the king was not their birth father. He knew what would happen next; Galbatorix would force him and his brother to fight each other, to provide a war because the pathetic Varden could not provide enough entertainment for him.

He bowed, "Yes Father." The words left a bitter taste in his mouth, but his voice gave away nothing.

The king laughed. "Good, good! Now, leave me! Come to me tonight!"

He bowed and obeyed, like the little lapdog, servant whore he was. He was never given any choices, he thought for the umpteenth time ever since he could remember as he backed out through the doorway. His footsteps echoed along the corridor, where a few servants, nobles and guards bustled about on their day. The all greeted him, in fear and admiration. They greeted him because they had to; otherwise Galbatorix would punish them for acts of treachery.

When he found the Head of Guard, he grabbed the man's arm and demanded "Where the hell is that blasted brother of mine?"

The Head Guard gulped, lowered his eyes and responded with "H-He's in the dragon pound, my Prince, talking with his griffin."

He cursed "I'll find him then. Go on about your duties!"

The Head Guard bowed once his arm was released "As you wish, Prince Freyr."

Freyr marched away, more assured in his destination "Nekoda, I'm going to kill you," he muttered under his breath.

(Eragon POV)

On the day they were supposed to leave, they gathered in the living room. Dawn had barely peered over the eastern edge of the Spine; Gertrude lit a few lamps to see better in the dim morning light. The bags were all packed; each carried his own, with Murtagh and Eragon carrying extra. The extra daggers were hidden away in Murtagh's pack, and Eragon had Evander carrying Garrow's arrows.

Before they left, Gertrude passed three scrolls to them. "One is an invitation from my father, Lord Tyler, and another is a letter from me indicating that you are who you say you are. Brom and I collaborated on the papers, so they should match the documents that Trevor of Daret will send you. The third is all that I wish I have said during your time here, but I could not."

"Thank-you, Gertrude," Eragon was surprised when the woman gave him a hug, but he returned it.

"Nay, thank _you_ ," she let go, and wiped a tear away from her face. "It has been a long century without hope. Be aware that not all will be glad of your return, Eragon. But keep in mind and heart that many more will rejoice."

"Take care, Gertrude," Eragon squeezed her hand "Enjoy the peace while it lasts. I'm afraid our presence is a forbearer of war."

Gertrude stood up taller, and Eragon could see the pride and strength of royalty in her, the traits of her ancestors "And I will fight alongside the Free Nations when the time comes, as will all true children of Sestina."

Eragon nodded, but guilt prevented him from answering. Gertrude had a good home here, safe and sound. For the majority of her life she stayed in Carvahall, and he did not want to bring her out into war. " _If she wishes to fight, do not stop her,_ " Saphira chided her Rider " _Do not dissuade those who wish to fight for their homes, Eragon._ "

Murtagh and the healer exchanged a quick farewell, and Gertrude hugged each and every one of the children, telling them to take care and such. When she arrived at Evander, she knelt before the boy, and whispered in his ear as she hugged him "I know that you are angry at Eragon for leaving you and your sister, but know this; he and your mother love you two very much, and if they could have raised you themselves, they would have. Ask for the details of how you had come to be under Garrow's care. And give your father a chance."

As soon as the goodbyes were over, the small party made their way outside and to the stables. Norfavrell's dragon was nestled in a small basket, promised to be let out in a few hours. Five horses all saddled and ready stood at the base of the small hill. Two more horses were purchased from the traders before they left, while the other three had belonged to Gertrude. She said that she had no need for three horses, and that a farmer up north promised his new foal as soon as it was broken in as payment for healing his children during a harsh winter. Eragon gave the children instructions on how to ride horses, promising to lead the way, while Murtagh placed the bags on the saddles.

The village was quiet early in the morning, with very few villagers up and about to start their chores. Those that were awake stared at the small party as it left on horseback, but only for a few seconds before their chores stole away their attention. Eragon could hear the hammer in the smith's workshop bellowing away, and the smith Horst singing. "O from the old iron, the wily old iron of my father's spoke!"

Byrd the watchman nearly glowered at them as they left, but Eragon pretended to ignore him, leading the twins' horses. The village was left behind in silence, and the only path that remained for the travelers was ahead, snow-ridden and soon bathed in early morning light. "The snow's pretty in the sunlight," Eragon commented, breaking the silence. "I used to sit and watch it all day when I was younger."

Evander sneezed. "He gets easily cold," Selena fretted. "Maybe we should stay on the same horse."

"Can I let my dragon out?" Norfavrell asked "She's getting restless."

Eragon could tell that travelling with children wasn't going to be easy; protecting them he and Murtagh can handle. Answering their questions on the other hand…

"Perhaps the twins should," Murtagh suggested. "The extra horse can be used to carry baggage."

"I suppose," the next few minutes were spent switching Selena and Evander's luggage. And yes, Norfavrell your dragon could roam free as long as she stays close by. They planned to avoid Theinsford anyway.

Once they started again, Norfavrell started to ask questions. "What are Dragon Riders supposed to do?"

"Protect the peoples of Alagaesia," Eragon replied "Among other duties. You'll learn a bit on the way to Teirm, but deeper studies will be approached once we're at Lord Tyler and Lady Elizabeth's home."

"A-are Adr-Adrianna and A-Adrian our r-real n-names?" Evander asked, suddenly.

' _Huh, I forgot to tell them their real names._ ' Eragon realized.

' _Old age tampering with your memory?'_ Saphira teased.

' _Beg your pardon, my beautiful dragon but aren't you older?'_

' _I'm a dragon.'_ Saphira said as a matter-of-fact.

"Poor boy's got your stuttering Eragon," Murtagh commented, smirking. He had a hand on the reins, a hand holding out a book, and an ear towards the conversation. Eragon wasn't as good at multitasking as his older brother was.

"You used to stutter?" Selena asked, surprised. She sat behind Evander, with her arms wrapped around him and her chin on his shoulder.

"Yes; before a Rider came a fixed it," Eragon replied, smiling inwardly as he predicted where the conversation was heading.

"An Imperial Rider helped you?" Norfavrell asked, curious.

Eragon laughed "No, not an Imperial Rider, a real Rider, one from the old Order."

"But the Old Order was dead for nearly a hundred years!" Selena protested.

Eragon eyed her out of the corner of his eye "Dragon Riders live for a very long time. I am seven-hundred and eight years old."

(Evander POV)

He couldn't help but stare at the man, the one who was his real father, the one who said that he was over seven hundred years old. He, Adrianna, and Norfavrell thought that he was joking, but his face said otherwise. Murtagh, _Uncle_ Murtagh, was seven hundred and fourteen years.

Apparently Dragon Riders lived for a very long time. But to live for centuries, watching your family die…he couldn't help but feel sad for Norfavrell.

"O-our r-real n-names," he prompted again, interested in the answer, if there was any.

Eragon, his father, sighed, "Adrianna's real name is Selena Tarmunora," he began. "You're name is Evander Olwen."

"Selena Tarmunora," he sounded the name out "Evander Ol-lwen."

"Selena after your grandmother, our mother," his father explained. "Tarmunora after the elfin queen during the time when the elves and the dragons first bonded, your mother's ancestor I believe. Evander was your mother's father, the elfin king who was slain by Galbatorix. Olwen is the name of my grandfather, a great man."

"Our mother is a princess!" Adrianna-or Selena now-squeezed him tightly "And you didn't stutter when you said our names!" Her voice nearly deafened his ear.

"Well, not exactly," Eragon rode alongside them now, with Norfavrell on their other side and Murtagh in the back. The pack horse, oddly enough, was right in front of them. Norfavrell's brown dragon altered between flying and resting on Norfavrell's lap. "In the elfish language, there is no word for 'princess'. She carries the title of the daughter of a queen, but that's it, really."

"But isn't that the same thing?" Selena asked.

Eragon laughed "Questions after questions! You two take after me in that case."

"And Evander with his stuttering," his sister declared, having no problem saying his 'real' name, "Can you heal his stuttering?"

"I can," his father answered "But when we rest for tonight. We'll stop close by Theinsford, and two days later we'll reach the end of the Valley. There, you'll find a surprise."

(Eragon POV)

He couldn't help but laugh at the children's expressions when they saw the dragons. Terra approached first, and she was the smallest of them all, the size of a two story farm house. Thorn and Saphira, who arrived later on, were much, much larger. All three children gaped at the monstrous size of the dragons. Norfavrell's dragon, on the other hand, leapt from her Rider's shoulders, crouched in front of the children, and growled at the three large dragons. Saphira chuckled, causing the earth to rumble and shake.

' _Do you think you can fight me, little hatching?'_ Saphira asked the little brown dragon, amused. The dragon stood up, and blinked, recognizing her mother. Cautiously the brown dragon crept forward and then leapt onto Saphira's snout.

"This is Saphira," Eragon stood by her head, laying a hand on it. "The crimson dragon is Thorn, Murtagh's dragon, and the orange dragon is Terra. She's a wild dragon."

Terra growled at the three children, who paled. Her orange eyes narrowed into slits as she studied the three. Out of reflex, Eragon placed a hand on his sword. " **Please do not frighten them, Terra,** " Eragon requested, keeping in mind that she may not listen to him. Much to his relief however, she did.

' _The land is strange Eragon,_ ' Saphira reported, gingerly tossing the hatching brown dragon towards Thorn, who caught her on his snout. ' _Terra had flown but a few miles in sight out of the Spine, and quickly she returned, reporting that there was something unhealthy about the land.'_

' _I guess we'll see soon enough for ourselves,'_ Eragon replied. His hand scratched Saphira's head as he gazed out towards the mouth of the Valley. The sun was just setting below the edge of the western Spine. "We'll camp for the night and then head out early before the sun reaches the top of the eastern Spine." Eragon relied. "We have a long journey ahead of us."

"How many days until we reach Daret?" Norfavrell asked, glancing over at the three large dragons.

"Perhaps a week," Eragon estimated "We won't be rushing so far, and we'll be stopping every night to start your studies. The basics all three of you will learn. Your studies will diversify once we reach Teirm, in another three weeks or so."

"A month until we reach Teirm!" Selena exclaimed.

"It'll be longer to get to the Varden," Murtagh caught Eragon's eye.

He knew what his brother was thinking. The land was vastly different outside the Valley. The weary looks of the traders and their families had not gone unnoticed by the two Riders. They by themselves would have to have been cautious to travel it; with three children, a dragon hatchling and three dragons it would be harder still. "Let's rest for tonight," Eragon moved away from Saphira, towards the horses. What lay in store for them on the way to the Varden?

(Murtagh POV)

Eragon was restless that night, checking the weapons, cleaning anything that could be cleaned. He followed his brother's movements with his eyes, the campfire always at the edge of his sight. When he approached Murtagh, the Crimson Rider looked up. "What is it?" he muttered softly, so as to not wake the children.

"Can you feel it, though? The strangeness?" Eragon murmured back, squatting next to him.

"What do you think it is?" Murtagh asked, knowing that Eragon would have the answer, or at least part of it.

His brother stared into the fire "Can you scour the outside of end of the Valley tonight?"

Murtagh didn't hesitate as he nodded. He slid away into the night, leaving behind a silent, tense company. A few low bushes popped here and there, a few clusters of trees spread all about. Palancar Valley, otherwise known as the Valley between the Spine to the very few, was an odd place indeed. It was protected, sheltered from the outside world but at the same time a shadow loomed over it.

He reached the edge of the valley, the fire behind him just a little pinprick. Utgard, Ristvak'baen, or Edoc'sil as it goes by loomed ahead and to his right. Murtagh calmed his body down, and still his thoughts, listening to the land. He spread his mind towards the outside of the Valley, and was attentive to the sudden change, separated by an invisible line. But as his mind further ventured out into the Empire, the more and more he wanted to turn back. It was _diseased_.

Hastily he pulled his mind away, and turned back towards the camp, though not before sending a tendril or two of thought towards Utgard. Something was off about it, like a great source of energy that pulsed. But he changed his mind; whatever it was, it could wait until morning.

He returned to find Eragon as restless as ever, pacing back and forth in front of Saphira she looked at him partly with humor and partly with concern.

Upon seeing Murtagh, he stopped and hurried towards Murtagh "Did you feel it?" Eragon asked, his brows scrunched and his fingers drumming against his thighs.

"You knew!" Murtagh accused "Why did you send me then?"

"I wanted to be sure," Eragon sighed, now walking in circles. Murtagh reached out to stop him but Eragon only shrugged his hand off. "What do you think it is the large energy source from Utgard?"

"I'm not sure," Murtagh admitted, now concerned. "Eragon," he was hesitant to ask "What are you feeling? What can you sense different?"

"The land is sick, ill," Eragon informed him "It's…it's like it's dying of a disease caused by a poison and its begging for help but no one can help it! What did Galbatorix do?"

"We have to wait until morning to find out," Murtagh's stomach sank as he saw the look on Eragon's face. Oh, he knew that look. He knew exactly what was going to happen. And he'd learned better than to stop it. "Look, whatever you're going to do tonight, just be careful, and come back before dawn, alright? You'll have me and Saphira to answer to if you don't."

Saphira growled, as if to emphasize his point. Eragon nodded, looking very much like a child about to make a promise he didn't plan to keep. Murtagh sighed as Eragon picked up his sword and his bow, and then headed off into the darkness. Murtagh plopped besides the fire pit. "He got into trouble even during times of peace," Murtagh told Saphira "How long do you think he'll last before we need to go save him?"

Saphira groaned, and rested her head on her forelegs ' _Perhaps an hour? Maybe more if we're lucky. So far, he's facing no trouble, but little one is going into Utgard.'_

"The idiot," Murtagh mumbled. Norfavrell rolled over in his sleep, and his brown dragon nestled closer to him. Selena had shifted closer to Evander in the last few hours that they'd been sleeping, and now the twins were back to back. Murtagh sighed again, pulled out Edoc'sil, and stuck it upright in the ground. The action made him feel better, and a bit more on guard. He'd sit there for as long as it'd take for Eragon to return. After all, many more had waited for a hundred years for him to come back.


	8. Utgard and Daret

**Whoa! Next chapter!**

 **Sorry for the long wait! I didn't know what to write for this and my other fanfic. On top of that I was working on my original story (which i hope to get published someday!) and gosh, there's just so many things I need to do for college!**

 **Read, Review, and Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Six: Utgard and Beyond

(Eragon POV)

He knew what lay atop of Utgard; the body of Vrael, his predecessor, his body and head separated.

But Eragon felt something else as well. It was a vast amount of energy, but it was more…lively. It was as if it had its own consciousness. The only other being that Eragon could think of that fit what he sensed now was a spirit; beings unlike any other in Alagaesia. No one knew if they were native to the land or not. Eragon knew that a few Riders were close to the answer until their demise. He used magic to levitate up to the top of the wall.

He nearly panicked when an unknown cut off his energy from the spell. ' _How is that possible?'_ But much to his surprise, he continued his journey upwards.

He felt Saphira's alarm. ' _I'm fine. A little shocked, but I'm fine.'_ He promised. He let her into his mind a bit further, so that she could see what he saw.

His body stopped just at the ledge of the guarding mountain and Eragon stepped onto the solid rock. The presence was stronger now, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease and, oddly enough, safety. Stretching his mind a little outwards, he could sense a vast conscious, perhaps larger than any he'd encountered before.

" _Eragon_ ," he heard his name vibrate throughout the hall. The Sapphire Rider placed a hand on his sword, but he felt, in the depths of his heart, that it was futile to do so. He headed towards the presence, feeling it as it grew stronger and stronger. The heat grew as well, but he pressed on, muttering a spell to keep him cool, only to find that it was useless.

At the edge of a doorway, the entrance to a room with a pillar of light in the middle, a voice cried out "Halt! Do not move any further Eragon! You will be burned if you do so!"

His heart stopped when he recognized the voice, but could it be? No, it can't have been. They were dead; they were dead for centuries!

"You recognize me, but you have never met me," said the bodiless voice. "Do you know, why that is?"

"No," Eragon admitted.

The voice was silent, before continuing on to say "Something about this mountain…it is holy, it is special."

"You…you believe in such things?" Eragon licked his lips, his voice bouncing back from the blackened walls. Burnt from dragon flames, Eragon realized.

"Many truths about my kind have been lost, even among them. I am many things, Eragon," the voice continued. "But there are other truths that I must tell you! Sit at the threshold, and I will speak to you!"

Eragon did as he was told, curiously mixed with caution, but not fear. No; he knew he wouldn't be harmed, and had no explanation for this feeling.

"Heed my words, young one, and heed them carefully," the Voice said, "This Valley is large, and has its own history. It does not fit in with the rest of the human race. Its leader is its own. I have been found several years prior by a young girl, my apprentice, my voice to the outside world. She will tend to you and Saphira alone near Dras Leona, by the ruins in which you were healed. Your presence will be the cause of bloodshed and turmoil, the root of the coming war. In the heart of the desert will lay the truth. The Vault of Souls must be protected. The Menoa tree will bear the mothers of blood-rain. You have three children; one heir, one ruler, and one mad."

"Who are you?" Eragon's throat felt dry and constricted. It was odd, as to how he felt that he knew who the voice was, but at the same time, he couldn't put it into words.

"You know," The voice said "Saphira knows. And the two of you know will still wonder with confusion until you meet with my apprentice."

"I-I don't." he shook his head, overwhelmed, confused.

"Listen! You neither are the Mahapaladin nor Saphira the Mahashakti, anymore. You have left the Guild of Bid'Daum, though you are above your heir. The Guild will be lost without the true leader. You have other duties to perform, ones passed by your predecessors. One you have created for your predecessor."

Eragon could see a black mass moving in the light. His heart thumped in his chest as the mass came closer and closer, and then light parted, as if it were water. Eragon shuddered as a shriveled, animated corpse walked through.

"By the power of flesh and dragon, we will live for thousands of years," the aged jaw cracked and slammed together, the sound barely hidden beneath the words. "When we vanish the Dragon Riders leave this land. That is all you should remember of us. The rest, you know deep in your mind, in your subconscious. But write my words down if you must! Speak them to only your council!"

But Eragon could barely hear the words, focused on the decaying body instead. He recognized it by the armor, now too big. A white sheath with its Rider sword still inside hung by his side, and in his other hand was a silvery-turquoise Rider's sword. The corpse's hand moved to unlatch the sheath, and tossed it and the sword to Eragon, who caught both with expert hands, "The sheathed sword for the ruler, and the bare sword for the heir." Its arms spread "And in the graves of diamonds shall the mad be buried in, one among others." It collapsed onto the ground, impossibly bursting into gray sand upon contact, leaving behind the empty armor, a hollow skeleton.

"You have been dead for a hundred years, and will be unless you are seen," the now bodiless voice whispered. "They of Sestina's blood and the Guild of Bid'Daum only know that you are alive. Your hand will tingle when they are near. The god at Tronjheim, the spirit of Ellesmera, and the spirits of races long gone may accept you; then you are crowned." It was a final dismissal, he knew. Eragon stood up, and not knowing what else to do, bowed toward the light. He turned at the doorway, and headed out.

' _Little one,'_ Saphira did not continue.

' _Saphira,'_ Eragon couldn't find the words either.

In the archway just before the ledge upon which he had landed on were strange markings. Eragon could not recognize it until he traced them with his hand. It was the human script.

' _Elva'_ Eragon read to Saphira, ' _Like an elf, but not quite; Elva. Who or what are you, Elva?'_

(Garrow POV)

Three days, and Garrow knew that they had finally left the valley. Normally, it would take someone five days or so to leave. The world had glowed with a vibrancy he'd never seen before at their arrival, and now faded again when they left. He sat outside his farmhouse, watching the sun as it rose above the mountains of the Spine. Inside, Marian was bustling about, making lunch. Roran was fixing the odd end, perhaps his boots or a shirt that tore.

Did he love his family? Yes, but now, looking back, it sometimes felt too strong of a word. Marian, he married because she was at first infatuated him and spent so much time around him that gossip was starting to spread. No one, especially in a tiny village like this, would want to marry her then. So he did; but he had loved her before, and he had grown to love her even more. He only hesitated because he was afraid that the King would find him. As for Roran, it was nice to watch your son grow up and teach him what you knew. But Garrow could not teach him the true skills that he learned over the years. When he told Eragon that his True Name changed because of love, he wasn't lying. Both Marian and Roran reminded him of love, reminded him of what he had lost with his parents and the rest of his family, especially Eragon, when he listened to the King's poisoned words, and chose his side.

His sword lay in the attic, the twin's empty room. He liked the twins, he cared enough for them to be angry at Sloan's treatment, but he did not love them. It had been a long time since he actually loved someone. He left Galbatorix's service for another reason as well; he was tired, and someday may have become too tired for the King. Raising a family, living in a village was his retirement award. He hadn't left the king's service without a word, either. After all, Garrow gave him Eragon's oldest son. Yet he could feel something changing in the Valley. There was something quite different. The land seemed more ill then before, as if a growing disease had infected it. When he first stepped into the Valley, it seemed as if it was heaven on earth. Now however…

The dark lilac sword would once again shed blood; he could feel it. He knew that it would come soon, but how soon he doesn't know. For him, twenty years was soon, as stretched out as that would feel. Five was a heartbeat.

Either way, he knew he had to prepare his son, at the least. Only a catalyst would help him prepare the villagers.

(Eragon POV)

He couldn't talk to Murtagh about what he'd seen, but he had written down the words as soon as he reached the campsite. The children were already asleep. He shook his head at Murtagh, who opened his mouth to ask him what it was. Fumbling, Eragon had pulled out a piece of parchment and a pencil, and wrote down what he remembered.

"Later," he told Murtagh after he finished writing. "When I'm ready, I swear." The next morning, he avoided talking to Murtagh by cleaning up the campsite. And he gave out instructions to the children to do, overseeing them, while talking with Saphira.

' _Could Elva be his apprentice?'_ Saphira wondered.

' _Maybe, but why Dras Leona?'_ Eragon pondered ' _A terrible religion grew there in the past hundred years, and the being I felt is too…_ holy _for the lack of a better term.'_

' _Strange events are afoot, Eragon,_ ' Saphira stared out towards the end of the Valley, letting Eragon pack certain belongings in her saddlebags. The two swords he was given last night were quickly hidden away. If Murtagh noticed them, he didn't say anything. Her words weighed in his mind.

When everyone was finished, he swung onto the saddle of his horse, pure white and quite young horse named Snowfire, only four years old. But he was strong and sturdy, and Eragon could see that he had many years ahead of him. "Ready?" he asked the assembled party, and flicked his reins.

It took a while to walk down the edge of the cliff. A growing unease settled in the bottom of his stomach. The moment Snowfire's hooves set foot outside the Valley, Eragon nearly threw up. ' _Little one?'_ Saphira asked, concerned. She and the other dragons were flying high above, keeping out of sight.

' _I'm fine,'_ he replied, hunching over in the saddle ' _The Valley must be really protected if this is my reaction.'_

"Adri-Evander!" Selena cried

He twisted around in his saddle to find Evander hunched over, looking pale and sick. He glanced up at Murtagh, who also looked a little pale. He wheeled his horse around towards the twins. He placed a hand on Evander's forehead, and muttered a spell to ease the queasiness "We'll ride slowly," he said "But I'm afraid you'll only have to get used to it. It'll feel better as time went along." But he was curious as to why Evander would feel that way as well. There seemed to be something more in him then he initially thought. First he displays a strong sense of mental stamina, and now this. Saphira gave him no answer, but Eragon felt that she had an idea of what it was about him.

The land outside the valley was barren; the snow that covered it gave off a bleak and distant feel. There were thunderheads far off in the distant. "There's a storm up ahead, but we may pass it when we head to Daret." Murtagh noted. Eragon frowned; a snowstorm would be devastating to them.

"Why're we heading there?" Norfavrell asked, his dragon now resting curled up in his lap.

"We need papers and clothes to act like nobility," Eragon replied. "Afterwards we'll head to Teirm."

"A-are th-the Varden there?" Evander mumbled.

"You'll see."

* * *

A week.

It took them a week to arrive at Daret. In the meantime, there was no sign of Imperial Dragons, no sign of any soldiers. The storm managed to skirt around them, and all children watched in fascination as they walked alongside the edge of a swirling mass of snow, all the while feeling nothing more than the cold wind.

Eragon, however, couldn't help but feel guilty. The land looked too abandoned now, with no dragons roaming in the sky, no children laughing, no families moving to visit relatives in the far distance.

When they reached the village of Yazuac, ' _We did this,_ ' was his only thought as the villagers stared at them with hostile eyes. The dragons flew around nearby, hidden in the clouds above. Every man in the village formed a crowd around them. One even poked Selena in the leg with an arrow. "We're leaving," Eragon snapped at the man. This only seemed to antagonize them, and their cheers when they left the village were loud and rambunctious, as if they had defeated a great enemy.

Three days later, the people are Daret were equally welcoming. Eragon could feel their minds, beacons of panic and terror as they moved about, heading for shelter. The small procession made it to the center of the town without seeing anyone. Eragon was the first to dismount. "No, stay on," He told the children. "If we need to leave quickly, I want you three to run as fast as you can on mine or Murtagh's signal. Get out of here as fast as you can. Norfavrell, take lead."

"What about you and Uncle?" Selena asked, having no problem acknowledging Eragon and Murtagh as her family.

"We'll be fine," Murtagh assured her.

Eragon grabbed Norvafrell's wrist, gently "Make for Gil'ead, and ask for a man named Dormnad if we tell you to leave," he whispered to the young Rider "Show him the proof I gave you last night when we stopped. He'll lead you to the Varden. There, the elfin emerald Rider Arya and a man named Brom will guide you. They will teach you what I cannot."

Norfavrell nodded, a hand clutching the sack in his lap. In it were two dragon eggs, which would hatch for future Riders.

Eragon let go and motioned Murtagh to follow after him.

They didn't get far before wagons were pushed out from between the houses, and toppled in front of them. The horses neighed and Eragon twisted around to see more men holding onto the horses, three pointing arrows at the children. His blood boiled, but he kept his temper in, and turned around. A man jumped on top of one of the wagons, a broadsword on his back and a drawn bow pointing at him. Another appeared beside him, just a boy of sixteen, pointing an arrow at Murtagh. "Stop! Surrender your weapons. There are sixty men on the rooftops who'll shoot." Eragon only felt thirty, and they seemed too frightened.

Eragon's hand tingled as he took a step closer to the man.

"A man has a right to be armed during dangerous times," Eragon replied, his voice level. He waited, even knowing that the man had the intent to give word and kill all of them. He pushed in a little further, only to learn that he planned show their bodies to soldiers stationed at Gil'ead, and perhaps receive aid for their sick and their fields in return. Come spring their crops may fail again. Eragon learned that the man's name was Trevor. ' _So he knows that we're the people sent by Brom. What could possess a man to betray someone?_ ' The answer came rather quickly; fear. He withdrew, only looking at his general intent.

The man lowered his bow, but his young companion did not.

"He does," Trevor agreed, then demanded "Why are you here?"

"Supplies," Eragon answered.

"We have nothing for you!" the boy snarled, but the fear and panic in his voice carried. He kept his bow still but he was nervous, and Eragon noted that he looked determined to see this through.

"We only come to ask for what we were promised," Murtagh added, his hand travelling to the hilt of his sword. "Or did you forget, Trevor son of None?"

The arrow left the boy's bow, digging into Murtagh's arm. Eragon jumped into action. He muttered a spell to numb the wound for a while, pulled the arrow out, and began to examine it. Murtagh cursed, and Eragon could hear Trevor berating the boy. He pushed that aside, and muttered the spell to heal Murtagh's wound. The arrow hole healed almost completely, becoming nothing more than a shallow wound that still bleed. He ripped off a piece of his shirt, and wrapped it around Murtagh's arm. "Idiot," he muttered to his brother.

"But it gave you a chance," Murtagh shot back in an equally quiet voice.

Eragon stood up to face Trevor and his boys, both of whom looked pale. So they noticed that he had magic. "To break your promise means that you are in a bad place." He spread his arms out. "I am a magician. I can heal your sick and your wounded. If you allow me to send one of my boys ahead, this village will receive weapons as well. But this is not a kindness; this is payment for what you promise you'd give to us."

Trevor couldn't look at him. The boy raised his drawn bow again when he said "Put that bow down, Araum. Enough damage has already been done."

The man jumped down, and approached them, "The men who arrived with what you needed left five days ago. A patrol was informed. They were all slaughtered, and the clothes were confiscated. In return, we received weapons and some medicine. It's not enough." Only now, did he raise his eyes to met Eragon's. "All we have left is to kill you."

"Kill me and this town will burn. This is not a threat. This is what _will happen_." He leaned in and whispered "Don't anger a dragon." He pulled off his glove, and showed it to Trevor, the golden gedwey ignasia shining brightly.

Trevor gasped, staggering back a few steps. "Y-You can't be!" he fell to his knees. "I-If I had known! Forgive me, my lord!" He pulled his boot off, (he tried not to gag at the smell. Humans became much smellier in the past hundred years) and pulled up his pant leg. A metal circle gleamed in the sunlight, hung on a thread that wrapped around his ankle. He held out the insignia towards Eragon.

The Sapphire Rider took it. "What is it?" The boy, Araum, asked, biting out his words.

"The Insignia," Eragon replied, hefting it in his hand. "I haven't seen this in a long while."

The metal was made of iron and bronze, giving off a murky orange color. In the center was the gedwey ignasia, a raised ovular shape in front of an etching of a dragon. On the gedwey ignasia was a single symbol, written in an unknown letter in the elves' script, the Liduen Kvaedhí, was the long-lost name of Eragon the First's sword. Circling around the medallion were the names of Bid'Daum and Eragon the First in the same script. The other side was identical to the first. "Call off your men," Eragon ordered, feeling himself slipping back into a familiar routine. "The children have done nothing wrong."

"Get back!" Trevor shouted the order. "Let the children go!" The confused men at the center of the town square obeyed, though confused.

"I will still heal your sick and your injured," Eragon held up the medallion "Because of this. Because your ancestors were members and I will not let their deaths be in vain. But I must know; do you still have the papers?"

"Yes," Trevor lowered his head, still kneeling on the ground. "And…my lord forgive me, but I must beg a favor."

"You don't have to beg," Eragon walked over, holding out a hand "You've already been through much. To help others in times of need is my duty. Stand up, Trevor, and tell me what else ails this village."

Men were armed with fine quality weapons, and they had used them well, Eragon noticed. The weapons given to them were just a bare minimum effort to keep the people still loyal to Galbatorix, even if the loyalty hung on a thread.

Trevor accepted his hand and let Eragon pull him up, but his face grew ashen, and his voice went up an octave, "Th-they've come in numbers far greater than before," he said. Almost immediately, Eragon could feel the shift in the atmosphere. Everyone, even the horses stilled. Eragon though he could almost hear the village men's heartbeats quicken.

"Who's come?" Murtagh asked, showing no sign of pain from his wound, even though the spell Eragon cast must have worn off. "What happened to this village, Trevor?"

It was then that Eragon saw something he hadn't seen before. The scratches on the walls, how torn the outer edges of the houses seemed "Trevor," he stretched the man's name out, fearing the worst "Trevor, what sort of injuries did your people receive?"

The man shook his head.

"We don't get a lot of Imperial Riders over here," Araum said, toppled from atop the wagon, and would have hit the ground if Murtagh hadn't caught him.

Eragon knelt on the ground, brushing away the snow, feeling the bare ground.

It felt _hard_.

It felt _cold._

But the most vital sign was that it felt _lifeless._

"Murtagh," Eragon stood up to face his brother "We need to stay here for a few days."

"What's wrong?" Murtagh propped up Araum against the side of the wagon.

"The undead," Eragon told him "The undead are rising again."

"Not just them," Trevor walked over to the horses, offering a hand to Selena. She looked skeptical, and glanced at Eragon, who nodded. The man helped her off "The Ra'Zac as well. And sometimes they come riding on two-legged winged beasts, leading a hundred or so of them. We can only hold them off until sunrise, but I don't think they were even trying."

"The Ra'Zac on the linnormr, leading a company of Draugr," Eragon then called out to Saphira ' _We will stay here tonight, and we need dragons to help.'_

' _We're coming, little one.'_

"Not a company," Trevor started to unsaddle the horses. He gave ordered for the other men to help, some to unsaddle, and others to take the horses into the stables "An army. And they just stand there, almost as if they're waiting. It happens every night. And sometimes they send a company over, giving wounds that no mere hand can heal."

' _They've come for us,_ ' Eragon realized. ' _Galbatorix, he must have known somehow. Damn it! Garrow!_ ' He couldn't help but glance at his children, and Norfavrell who stood behind them. All three gave him confused and worried looks. He thought of the other children who were hiding behind the walls. Of the other people who were injured and hurt.

' _It ends tonight,_ ' he decided, ' _And the battle will be long.'_

"We can help you," Eragon said. "And we will do our best to heal the injured. Those wounds even we can't heal fully without the proper tools, but we can lessen the minor ones."

"Thank-you," Trevor grabbed his hand, "Thank-you so much."

"Of course," Eragon gave him a faint smiled "You can tell your villagers to come out now. Have any of them seen dragons before?"


	9. The Battle Begins

**Thank-you guys so much for all of your support! Your reviews were encouraging, and I'm glad that some of you have left them!**

 **So, I'm happy with this chapter. After all, even though Eragon is an important character, he's not the only character, something I needed to remember.**

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Chapter Seven: The Battle Begins

It took several minutes before the villagers were brave enough to take step outside their homes. Even then, it was first the men, all huddled around the town center, staring at them with empty eyes.

Eragon didn't know what to feel. Guilt because it was their fault, the Riders' fault for bending down to Galbatorix, for losing, or maybe empathy, because he understood what they suffered. He'd seen those faces before, a long, long time ago, during a dark age in human history. He was just a young Rider, having only completed his training that year. Murtagh finished his a few months earlier. They discovered a secret of the Grey Folk so hidden, so terrible, that they could not protect the human race all by themselves. With permission from Vrael, they formed a group, with Eragon as the head; the Guild of Bid'Daum.

Magic was an untamable power that could be used to the purpose, and at the risk, of the wielder. It was the very nature of the world; it governed the world, had a mind of its own, a fact so very few people knew. When the Grey Folk bound magic to their language, the Ancient Language, they could not bind all of it. What they bound was magic that was the ability to manipulate the land to the will of the wielder. Everyone, from native dragons to the immigrant humans' to the abominations such as Shades, was subject to it. It was of the living land.

But what the Grey Folk could not contain was the magic, or energy, from beyond the living land, a dark, cursed magic that not even Shades and sorcerers fully understood, despite being practitioners of this Dark Magic. With the Guild, Eragon had arranged for the destruction of the cursed magic practitioners, and any living being that had come into contact with it. Generations upon generations of the members of the Guild of Bid'Daum, which included all races from werecats to dragons, elves to humans, and even dwarves, fought against them, all to protect the races of Alagaesia.

Some monsters, born of the dark, untamed magic, escaped though; some always escaped no matter how hard they tried. Draugr, the undead who walked again; unlike the myth of zombies, who can be defeated if their head was separated or destroyed, these were not so easily killed, head or no head. Their body had to be burned, without a limb to spare. Linnormr, large, two-legged serpents with wings like dragons, were creatures of destruction, spewing poison instead of fire. And there were a few others, whom Eragon hoped wouldn't cause too much trouble in this war.

' _You have left the Guild of Bid'Daum,_ ' the Spector's voice he had heard on Utgard came floating back to him, ' _though you are above your heir.'_

' _My heir to the Guild; Nekoda Freyr, Selena Tarmunora, and Evander Olwen: which one is my heir?'_

Scanning the men assembled in a group before them, Eragon recognized the wounds they suffered; wounds of the undead Draugr. He recognized their suspicion, their fear, as they stared at him with nervous eyes. "Let me help," Eragon asked the man closest to him, his voice quiet and calm to ease the man's nerves.

He could feel Saphira nearby, above them in the clouds; there was a small wind coming down from the dragons wings. He doubted that anyone else, save Murtagh, could feel it. The man he talked to only glared at him. "Please," Eragon spread out his hands "I can help."

"How can you?" the man demanded. Eragon noticed how his hand kept tingling whenever he was near the villagers; he found that interesting.

"Elrid," Trevor gently placed his hand on the man's good shoulder "You know that he can help us. Trust that instinct." The man Elrid hesitated, before he jerked his head down, and held out his arm, as best he could, for Eragon to examine.

The wound was too severe to heal completely. Elrid's arm bent at the elbow, hand folding against the arm at the wrist, and it was shrivel, as if the water was removed. The hand was blue and cold to the touch, and Eragon could see the long, black gash were the Draugr had gashed it. He stretched out his mind, focusing on the cut, pulling out the other-worldly magic by muttering words that were kept in the circle of the very few. It took a good ten minutes for it to be completely removed. Then, he began to mutter the words in the Ancient Language, restoring the arm as best he can. Once he was finished, another five minutes later, Elrid looked at his arm in amazement. The other village men gaped at it. It was no longer shriveled, though it lacked its full size, and the Draugr wound was now a thin scar. The villager moved it, with the awe of a child who saw a magic trick for the first time.

"I-I," Elrid stammered, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, his astonishment too great to put into words. He flexed his fingers, and Eragon knew that he could feel warmth in his arm for the first time in days.

"I can't fully heal it," Eragon said "But I have done the best I can."

Raising his voice, he added "I want a line, from those who were recently hurt first. The longer the wound had festered, the more time it takes and time is something we do not have. Be aware that I cannot heal all of you, and some may not be fully healed at all. We do not have all the proper tools." Turning towards Murtagh and Trevor, he asked "Murtagh, can you heal the other wounded? Those who were sick and not by a Draugr's hand? Take the children with you. Trevor, after you show Murtagh where the rest of the wounded are, set up a barrier around the village. Do what you've done to hold them off these past few nights."

Murtagh nodded, before pointedly staring at Trevor, who took a few moments to stare at Elrid's arm before he noticed the Riders' attention was on him "Of course," the man said "But…" he hesitated "But will it be enough."

"We're here now," Murtagh told him "It will be."

"Very well," he bowed deeply to the two Riders, and led Murtagh away.

A line formed with the recently injured coming to him first. As he healed the men, Eragon heard Trevor shouting, starting to give out orders for the able to grab a hold of a shovel, and start digging.

Before he finished healing all of the men, the woman and children came out, faces curious, and some hopeful. Murtagh came with them. "A lot of the wounds were from the Draugr," his older brother explained. "I healed the minor ones first. There are a few whose wounds are too great to heal."

Eragon grimaced, and gestured for newcomers to join the line. "Recently attacked in the front and oldest in the back," he repeated. "And anyone who's able can help Trevor set up defenses."

The first woman to come up to him held a baby no more than a few weeks old. She revealed a tiny, shriveled foot. "I know you said older wounds in the back," the woman began in a timid voice "But please."

"Of course," Eragon gently took the baby's hand, holding it with two fingers. Babies were tricky, harder to heal as they were still growing. He stayed silent for a few minutes, thinking of the correct word choice, going over the spell with Saphira so he wouldn't miss anything or unintentionally cause the baby's hand to grow extra large or stay the same size. When he found the words, he began to sing, instead of merely chanting, urging the dark magic out of the babe, and urging the good magic to let the hand grow normally. It took him much longer than he would have liked, but it was well worth the effort. The woman thanked him in tears as she led the babe go. He continued healing the others, some fully, others partially so.

' _Little one,_ ' Saphira's voice rang in his head after a good few hours had gone by, ' _There is something amiss in the world. The sun is about to touch the horizon. And the villagers need to be armed._ '

' _I feel it too,'_ Eragon took the hand of an elderly man ' _I'll send Norfavrell to get the weapons from Thorn._ '

He sent a quick message to Murtagh, telling him of his plans. His older brother said nothing to him, but gave him a mental nod of acknowledgement. "Norfavrell!" Eragon called out, immediately spotting the boy. He was carrying a jug of water, which he quickly passed onto another woman before jogging towards Eragon.

"Yes?" The young boy asked.

"I'll be back," Eragon told the man he was about to heal. Before the man could protest, Eragon pulled Norfavrell aside. "I need you to do me a favor."

"Just a mile north of the village Thorn will land. In his saddle bags, the middle three on his left side, will be spare weapons. I want you to get that bag and bring it back. Take your horse and hurry."

The boy nodded and scrambled off to do as he was told.

Eragon healed as many more as he could, each healing taking longer and longer as the wounds grow older. Murtagh worked at the other end, healing those with severe wounds first. By the time the sun touched the horizon, there were only fifty or so wounded left, out of a total of two hundred villagers. Trevor came over to them "The defenses are set, my lord. And the older boy who was with you came back with a rather large bag. He said they're weapons inside."

"There are," Eragon confirmed. In a quieter voice he added "Nearly a hundred years gives you a lot of time on your hand. Arm those who need it most."

"My Lord," Trevor bowed "I cannot thank-you enough."

"There's no need to thank me," Eragon pulled Trevor upright by the arm "I am only doing what's right, and what I owe you."

"You owe us nothing," Trevor shook his head "It was I who had sold out the members of the Varden. Their families…" his voice trailed off.

Eragon frowned "Will never see them again," he finished. "You did what you needed to do to survive. These are dark times indeed, and people will often do what's necessary in order to survive."

"And yet I go unpunished for the ones I've killed?"

His frowned deepened, and he shook his head as he countered "No, you will not go unpunished. Tonight, you have our aid. But tomorrow, and the day after that? This village is on its own. You need to lead them in order to survive." Here, Eragon's voice hardened "You have taken it upon yourself to betray the ones who you swore to help. Do not expect much help from them."

Trevor's eyes narrowed, and Eragon could hear the restraint in his voice as he said "So you'll just leave us to die when you leave? Completely abandoned us? Punish me for my actions but those who follow me."

A noble man, Eragon realized. "No. I'm leaving you with hope. Do with it what you will."

It seemed than that Trevor understood a part of who and what Eragon was. He stayed silent for a moment before stating "You are a cruel man."

"No, I'm not. I'm just a very old Dragon Rider," Eragon countered again. "I've lived many centuries, Trevor, and I have seen what the Riders have done to this land. For your village to survive this long without the aid of the Guild, it is very impressive."

"The trade of the Guild was passed down to me, through my mother," the man explained "As it is with many people here. There are many old families here, though for you I doubt a hundred years is old."

"It's not," Eragon agreed. He continued "A fool can take hope and fall to his demise. As it is with power, take care of hope in desperate times. Too little or none at all, and too much can kill you."

"I'll take your words to heart," Trevor bowed his head "But I will not blindly follow you."

"Good man," Eragon clapped his hand on Trevor's shoulder. "The only one I intend to hurt is Galbatorix and his Empire, and I will aid all those who are trying to stop him."

"Eragon!" Murtagh shouted "The sun's nearly set. We need to set up the fire."

"The blue fire?" Trevor asked, his tone changing to that of an eager boy "The True Fire which burns the wakened dead?"

Eragon smiled, amused "It doesn't have to be blue you know."

"But blue gives us hope," a new voice added. Eragon turned to find a hunched old lady, leaning on a walking stick and carrying a thick book, walking towards them, leading a group of men and women, of all ages. "After all, the blue Sapphire is the color of your dragon, Mahapaladin."

Her words had spread around rather quickly, eager whispers taking them across the village "I take it that you have used spells to create such a fire?" Eragon didn't bother to tell her that he wasn't the Mahapaladin anymore. Now was not the time.

She shook her head "Every night, those of us who choose to practice magic have done our best to ward off the foul creatures. We have not yet created the fire, in fear that those we failed to kill with come back in greater force. But now that you are here, we have hope." Her thin lips stretched into a smile, and tears began to pour out of her eyes "It has been too long, Shadeslayer. We have heard of your great deeds. It is an honor."

Eragon stopped her from bowing to him. He smiled gently "Now is not the time," he told her "Wait until morning. Tonight, you must defend yourselves, and we are here to help."

"Same positions as the previous night!" Trevor bellowed, taking charge "Those unable to fight inside the center houses. Spell casters surround them; archers on rooftops and fighters in front of the spell casters!" Eragon watched as the villagers moved into action, each going to their respected places. The villagers moved with more confidence than he had seen before, several glancing curiously at him and Murtagh. Eragon grabbed both Norfavrell and Selena when they headed away from the center houses.

"And just where do you think you two are going?" Eragon asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We're going to fight!" Selena said boldly, trying to pull her arm out of his grip. She held the golden Rider dagger Garrow once had in his possession in one hand, while Norfavrell held the brown one. Eragon frowned; just where did they get those daggers?

"And look who else wants to fight," Murtagh brought over Evander, who was holding Garrow's dark lilac dagger, and a girl around his age.

"W-we w-ere luh-looking for them!" Evander shouted in his defense. The girl nodded frantically, held in Murtagh's grip.

"What's your name," Eragon gently asked her.

"Cecilia," she replied shyly "My father is Trevor, the village um," she looked down, as if she was saying too much.

"All four of you inside now," Murtagh ordered "Fights are not a place for children."

Selena made a face, but didn't argue as Evander led her and Cecilia inside. Norfavrell stayed behind, shuffling his feet. "What is it?" Eragon asked.

"Well," he glanced around, making sure no one was listening. "What about my dragon?" he whispered.

"She's safe," Eragon promised him. "Find an empty room, perhaps the attic, and call out to her in your mind. She'll come to you, but let no one see here. Such explanations are best left for the morning."

He nodded, but suddenly stopped "Wait how do you know my dragon's a she?" he asked.

Eragon smiled "That's something I'll teach you later. To be honest, I should have figured it out earlier."

"Go," Murtagh waved him off "They're almost here." The boy sobered, and dashed off into the same house as the other three children.

Eragon watched him go, aware of Trevor approaching him out of the corner of his eye. "Everyone is set, and your horses are all stabled. They should be safe tonight."

"First thing's first," Murtagh drew his sword "We need to draw a fire. I hope red is good enough." He stalked off without another word.

Trevor puckered his brow, confused "What does he mean red?"

"His fires are red," Eragon explained briefly, and drew his sword "We're going to set up a line in the ditch. At one word, the trenches will be lit with fire that will burn the Draugr. If we see any linnormr," he grinned widely at Trevor. "Well, they'll be in for a surprise. It's been too long, I believe, since they've seen dragons willing to fight them."

(No One POV)

In Dras Leona, at the edge of the Upper Ring was the House of a great Lady. She was mysterious and quiet, but a beauty to those who saw her; a great and terrible beauty, a priestess of an esoteric religion.

But that great and beautiful Lady was not in her house. Rather, she was standing in the balcony, overlooking the Center of the city below. The shadow of the Cathedral, religion of the dreaded Helgrind, was cast over the people below. Torches were lined up around the center. A long line of slaves stood behind the podium, ready to be sold and bought. People shouted out their prices. _Like pigs squealing in the pen for scraps,_ the Lady's lips curled in disgust.

The man next to her, her personal slave, tensed with anticipation. She knew she promised to buy his family, but there was another boy who caught her eye. She doubted she would have enough money for all of them. "If I find your family first, I'll buy your family," she told the man, her lips hidden behind her fan. "If I find the boy first, you must choose which family member you love the least."

"Yes, Mistress," the man, Jordon, promised. His skin was pale; the winter sun hadn't changed his skin tone much.

"And these fine specimen! A 'ole family," the pot-belly slaver, more of a middle man really, brought forward her slave's family minus one boy. In place of his boy was the one she was interested; how lucky. Perhaps she should trust her God more often.

She heard her slave, Tenrid, gasp, and she could imagine his fists tightening, hands turning even paler than they were already. His wife was of a darker skin and his children a mix; except, of course, the boy she was interested in. That boy seemed as pale as Tenrid.

"The 'ole family for three-hundred crowns!" the slaver started off.

Soon enough, people were shouting out their prices, but lucky for her, they were few in number. When the highest was seven hundred, she picked up the mallet in her lap, and tapped the bell. The sound vibrated over the courtyard, silencing the people. Everyone looked over to here. "Nine-hundred crowns!" She called out, her lips momentarily appearing from behind the fan, before being hidden again.

"Nine-hundred crowns!" the middle-man slaver shouted. "Do I 'ave any other takers? Anyone goin' up 'igher?"

There were no takers.

"Sold!" he placed a 'sold' sign around each of their necks. "An 'ole family sold to Lady Elva at nine-hundred crowns!"

"Collect them," she ordered her other slave, and her guards, "Make sure that no one kills them on the way here. I'd rather these people be able to be freed."

But her eyes never the boy she wanted; his name, her sources told her, was Jarsha.

' _Jarsha,_ ' she thought to herself ' _How would you like to become a Dragon Rider? But for which king, we'll have to see. This should be interesting._ '

(Garrow POV)

The soldiers came with an Imperial Rider leading them. Garrow heard the wings before he saw them. "What's that?" Everyone at Horst's house stopped eating, listening intensely to the sound of thunder.

"A thunderstorm in the winter?" Someone, perhaps Balder or Albriech, asked, confused. Marian's family dinner was taking place in Garrow's house tonight. And of all the nights for those bastards to come…

"No," Garrow throw down his fork, finished chewing, and stood up. Why the hell couldn't they have left him in piece?

"Garrow," Marian asked, worried. She placed her hand on her husband's shoulder "What's going on?"

"A broken promise, that's what," he growled. He all but ran out of the room, moving faster than he was sure anyone in the village had seen him. He dashed into his bedroom, and reached under his bed, pulling out his Rider sword.

The Valley was supposed to be different. His mind raced, a million thoughts swirling in his head as he wrapped his cloak around him, putting on his boots. The Valley wasn't supposed to be invaded. And yet…here it was.

He went back down, sword strapped to his side, gloves on his hands "Everyone stay here," He ordered "Galbatorix's men are coming."

"Garrow even for you that's suicidal!" Horst jumped, ready to stop him.

"No it's not, trust me," Garrow grimaced "I'm in favor with the King a lot more than I'd like to be," ' _Though that won't stop him from killing me if I prove to be a threat…or a nuisance.'_

"Father-"

"Enough Roran let me do this." Without another word, ignoring their words of protest, he left the house, stepping out into the cold.

The skies were grey, and snow blew around, not quite a storm. The wind howled. In the distance, he could see the dragon.

Red; of course it was red. Of course it was bloody red. And that could mean two things; one the rumors were true, or two the leader of the Imperial Riders had changed his dragon, if it could still be called that.

He ran up to meet them, the 'dragon' landed a few feet in front of him. Garrow stopped, watching as a figure slide down from the beast. It was a horrible beast; like a dragon but dumber. He could see it in the eyes. And real, true dragons didn't need a very large horse harness to control them.

"Master Garrow!" A familiar voice rang out. Garrow almost sighed with relief "I've come baring good news."

As the figure came closer, he could see who it was. He had once been an apprentice Rider, to Eragon of all people, before Galbatorix poisoned his mind and turned him into one of his own. Janus, the young boy from Narda, was now one of the most powerful beings in all of the Empire, only surpassed by Galbatorix. "Janus," Garrow greeted his former pupil. "What brings you here? I thought the king granted me peace for my retirement."

"He has, he has," Janus came closer. His hair was dark, reaching his shoulder. His sword was the color of his original dragon, a pale, lifeless blue, rather than the ugly shade of red his dragon was. "And he sends his regards and regrets to disturb you-"

' _I doubt it_ ,' Garrow thought, snarling in his mind.

"But he has a favor to ask," Janus leaned closer, "A very important favor. Our king senses something amiss in the land. It's changing, different from before."

"I see," Garrow didn't bother to not sound annoyed. After all, it wouldn't be to out of character with him. "What does he sense different?"

"He wouldn't tell us," Janus grinned, and pulled something out of his shirt. "But I have good news for you! You have been made Earl of Palancar Valley."

Garrow's blood turned cold, colder than the wind that was pounding at him. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, was a favorite saying of Galbatorix. The rumor that many close to him in power are dying spawned from him. It was all good game to the mad man.

"He must hate me," Garrow spoke truthfully, "If he decides to reward me for my service with paper work."

Janus laughed "It won't be that bad! Of course, you must send every eligible son into His Majesty's army. Your son included."

' _Roran_ ' his blood turned even colder. How did he know about Roran? His first thought went to Sloan, and then to the traders, particularly the two who were overly fond of the King. "I don't think the rest of the village likes me," he confessed.

"Still the grumpy old man then?" Janus commented, almost casually, but Garrow suddenly heard the second meaning behind it. Janus knew something, he knew something more than what he was letting on.

He snorted in response, but he doubled the barriers on his mind "I must know, why now? Why now of all the times? I've been retired for over a decade now."

Janus shrugged "I'm not sure," his former pupil told him. "But like I said before, strange events are moving afoot. The King senses that our enemies are starting an elaborate plan, one that will take years to implement. He's making his moves now."

He didn't dare question how Galbatorix could be so sure. After all, he didn't want Janus gain any evidence, even the slightest bit that Garrow no longer wanted to serve the king. But he couldn't help but think what would cause the king to act in such a why.

He already knew his answer though. The king felt Eragon, Saphira, Murtagh and Thorn return. He may not know that it was them, but he knew something will happen. The Varden were completely powerless now, feeble at best. A few years time? Perhaps they will become strong enough to fight back. But what does this have to do with making Garrow Earl of Palancar Valley?

Garrow led Janus and the small troop, twenty men, towards his barn. The soldiers would have to keep warm in the barn, but Janus, of course, was welcomed into his home. Garrow couldn't shake that feeling of dread as he watched a monster cross the threshold into his home.


	10. Battle

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Chapter Eight: The Battle

Before Eragon took up his position alongside Murtagh, he went inside to speak with the children. He first found Norfavrell in the attic, using his mind, and then Selena and Evander huddled with the rest of the wounded, the women, and the children. He led the twins up into the attic where the young Rider was waiting with his dragon.

The boy looked up in alarm until he realized who it was. "I want the three of you to listen to me carefully," Eragon began. "These draugr are very, very dangerous. You cannot hear them coming. You can feel them before you can see them, a sense of cold, as if all the warmth was leaving from the world. As for what they look like…they are the bodies of the dead.

"I know that I told you to stay inside. But I do not want you to be caught off guard in case one escapes past us and enters the house. These daggers you're carrying," he faltered. It had been such a long time…he could remember exactly what spells he had enchanted these with when he created them, with the aid of Murtagh. They were among the few, perhaps the only, Rider weapons not forged by Rhunön. Out of fear he had placed spells which would help the wielder defeat most creatures of Dark Magic. Of course, there were some Dark Creatures which required more than charmed weapons.

"These will help you defeat them," Eragon continued. "I will only let you use them for now. Afterwards, you will give these back to me. These daggers have a history behind them. And _be careful_."

Selena surprised him by giving him a hug, "You too, Father," She whispered. Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, Evander joined in as well. He wrapped his arms around both of them, holding them for a few moments, before reluctantly letting go. The hug surprised him, but it warmed him as well. "I have to go. Stay safe, all of you."

"Buh-be c-careful," Evander said rather timidly.

Eragon smiled at his son-a warm tingle ran through his body at the thought-and promised "I will. It'll take a lot more than these draugr to kill me."

Finally, Eragon turned to Norfavrell, and placed a hand on his shoulder "Take care of yourself and your dragon, Norfavrell. Every Rider against Galbatorix is one step closer to victory."

The apprentice nodded "I will."

He left fairly quickly, aware of how much longer it took than he expected. He met Murtagh and Trevor outside.

"Where were you?" Murtagh demanded.

"Telling the children what to expect," He replied. "Is everyone in place, Trevor."

"Everyone but ourselves," the head of the village replied.

"Then let's go."

Trevor and Murtagh positioned themselves with the ground fighters. Eragon took to the roof with the archers.

As the sun went down, the night grew colder, much too cold. He was aware of the men around him shivering, but he couldn't cast a spell to keep them warm. The cold was a signal to indicate when the draugr were coming. But perhaps…he thought for a moment before casting a small spell that would prevent the body temperatures of the fighters from falling too low, but still let them know when the draugr were coming.

The first sign of the walking corpses was a low mist from the horizon, still too far away for the eyes of mere humans to see. But Eragon could spot the moment when a lone figure came forward, blade lifted in the air. He was too far away, but he knew what words were being used. He saw the dead pulling themselves out from beneath the ground. He saw two winged beasts crawling from the sky, coming out of a world beyond this one. But there was no indication the Ra'Zac were nearby.

When they came closer, a cry from the archer next to him rang out "I see them, they're over the horizon!"

"Everyone ready now!" Trevor bellowed. "Archers ready at Lord Eragon's command!"

' _I'm not a lord,_ ' Eragon thought. When he deemed them close enough, he shouted "Archers at the ready!"

Eyes focused on the draugr, he could hear the archers shuffling as they nocked their arrows. Murtagh's mind touched his. ' _Ready,'_ said his older brother.

"Brisingr Helheim," Eragon whispered at the same time as Murtagh. Red and blue flames appeared at the tip of the arrows "Fire!"

The arrows flew, and Eragon knew they were too few for the many draugr out there. But for those which hit their marks, they did their work well. High pitched screaming filled the air.

He watched as the few draugr who were lit on fire scream and twitch, accidentally igniting those around them. The red-blue fire spread, and he could see as each flame disappeared, meaning the draugr had been banished from this world, and left behind nothing but ashes.

Still, they kept coming. Eragon lost sight of the man who had cast the spell to raise them. The air was getting colder. He ordered another round of fire.

From above, he heard the wails of the linnormr, large flying serpents with two legs and leathery wings. He could feel Saphira preparing for battle, her body diving down towards the linnormr.

' _Can you see the Ra'zac?_ ' Eragon asked, initiating a third volley of arrows.

' _No,_ ' Saphira replied as Eragon watched her slam into one of the linnormr, Thorn attacking the other one, and Terra, the wild dragon, attacking the third.

Eragon waited for the draugr to come closer, until the first of them were on the line. Both he and Murtagh muttered "Brisingr Helheim," and then the older Rider withdrew from his mind. This time, the Blue Fire, one so revered by the elder woman who appeared to be the head of the magicians, came in red and blue. A few draugr were lit on fire, and lit their compatriots, but still, hundreds more were coming.

"Th-this is the most that's ever come," the man next to him quivered "We're doomed!"

"No you're not," Eragon countered. The flame on the circle died down, and he slid off the roof top, meaning to join the fighters on the ground. He notched an arrow, and waited beside Murtagh.

A sharp pain ran through his left arm. ' _Saphira!'_ he cried out him fear.

' _I'm fine,'_ he heard her growl ' _But this linnormr will be killed!'_

He shot the first draugr he saw, but more kept coming. "Ready," he asked Murtagh, setting his bow back into his quiver and pulling out his sword.

"Ready," Murtagh replied, making an 'X' with his sword.

Trevor led the charge, and Eragon followed behind him. The first draugr he faced with his sword he cut the head clean off and tore it apart with a single word "Nángoröth."

He could still feel the chill in the air, and a tingle of cold ran up his sword arm every time Brisingr touched a draugr. Saphira was still fighting her battle, but he knew that soon, she would need help.

' _I'm coming,'_ he told her, racing to the outside of the village, killing as many as he could. Once; he was safely outside, Saphira landed.

Scratches covered her entire body, black lines cold to the touch.

' _I'm fine!_ ' she snapped when Eragon started to examine her ' _The sun will heal these petty wounds!_ '

' _Daylight is short in the winter,_ ' Eragon pointed out, ' _I'll only heal the serious ones, especially the one on your arm.'_

She growled ' _Be quick about it then!'_

He healed them as quickly as he could, before climbing onto the saddle ' _How are Thorn and Terra doing.'_

' _Well,_ ' Saphira replied, quickly taking off and heading towards the linnormr she was fighting. It screeched when it saw Saphira coming towards it, and it veered away from her. Saphira gave chase, and Eragon pressed himself against the saddle. ' _Terra's fighting honors our wild dragon ancestor, Eridor._ '

' _A great praise indeed_ ,' Eragon commented. Eridor was the last king of the wild Dragons, before Galbatorix and the Forsworn had killed him.

' _There is the coward!_ ' Saphira suddenly roared. She sent Eragon a picture of the linnormr, who had hidden behind a cluster of trees. ' _I shall show him the wrath of the dragons!'_

Her rage filled his mind, and he shared her anger for a moment, allowing it to control his thoughts. He snarled when she roared, her body slamming against the linnormr. He dared to sit upright again, just in time to see Saphira tear its wing off; a left wing for a left forearm. The otherworldly monster screeched. Eragon stood up in the saddle, and, using magic, ran across the tips of her neck spikes. He drew his sword when he reached the base of her skull, yelled "Brisingr Helheim!" when he jumped off, and slammed his sword Brisingr into its head once he was close enough.

When a large screech, louder than before (Eragon pulled up wards to protect the ears of those who heard it), and the blue flame spread along its body. The body turned to ash.

He wasted no time after he was sure the monster was gone. He jumped back onto Saphira, and they headed back towards the village. ' _Murtagh,_ ' he called out to his older brother. ' _I've got one. Your turn.'_

' _Take my place,_ ' the red Rider sent him a picture of where he was. Once again, Saphira dropped him off where she left him, and took to the skies. She would search for the person who raised them, and attack him. The man, if it was a man, was most likely not a magician. Magicians used the magic of this realm to manipulate it, to speak to it, to understand it. To raise the otherworldly, you had to be the farthest away from a magician as you possibly could be. Saphira was a creature of this land. It would take a lot more than a measly otherworldly magician to defeat her.

Eragon ran towards where Murtagh was, the landscape a blur around him. As soon as he arrived, Murtagh took off. The draugr he had been fighting found itself dying with a flaming blue sword, instead of red. He looked around; there were still more coming towards him. The air was colder than ever. "Well now," he muttered, sword held at shoulder level, knees crouched "Who's next?"

* * *

(Nekoda POV)

Nekoda watched as the draugr and linnormr did what they were bidden to do.

He watched as the dragons of old took to the sky to defeat the linnormr.

"I wonder," he mused, stroking the beak of his griffin, Mesa. Mesa had the body of a cougar, but the wings and head of a hawk. He was a hunter of the skies, a creature created by Galbatorix. Or so the king had said.

"Do you think they know the consequences of showing up?" Nekoda asked. "What are they going to do when King Father finds out they're here?" He frowned. Mesa adjusted his wings. The body of the man who raised the otherworldly lay at his feet. Human wasn't Mesa's favorite, but he would eat it if he was hungry enough. The griffin's head pecked at whatever flesh still remained on the bones.

"Or perhaps…King Father knows that they are coming." Nekoda sniffed, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. "Eh, what will happen, will happen. I'm too tired to care."

Mesa squawk, and pushed his owner with his beak. The prince, soon to be crown prince, chuckled "You're right! I still care. I care too much."

Nekoda looked towards the village once again, where the battle was taking place. "Freyr and I…we look similar, but we are not alike. We're not brothers, that much I know."

Mesa shook his head, having finished his food

"I know, I know that I've told you this before," he sighed, and mumbled under his breath "Twins, Crown Princes, my ass. There's a damn war coming. And he's going to send us both off to our deaths."

The nearly twenty-one-year-old man adjusted the saddle on his griffin. "You know," he grunted as he climbed on top of his stead. "I believe Galbatorix knows what's going to happen. He's bidding his time. I would like to bet…" He pressed his lips together, thinking "I want to say three; what a strong number that is! Well, so is one. But the number seven is nagging at me."

Mesa spread his wings. Nekoda clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, urging the griffin to turn around. The creature obeyed; running for a few miles, he began to flap his wings, and took off into the air.

' _Yes, seven…sounds better than three,'_ Nekoda decided, leaning against his pet as they flew higher and higher into the sky. They turned south towards Gil'ead. ' _Seven plus three equals ten. Divide it by two is five. Something happens in years one-which is this year-three-does one of us die-five-no more blood please-but it all ends in year seven._ '

Normally, he would have been delighted to share this with Freyr. But he still had bruises from their last encounter. Perhaps, when his 'twin' was in a better mood.

' _Or, perhaps not at all,_ ' he thought, anger bubbling up inside of him. After all, if Freyr wanted to play the lonesome martyr, he can. The drama queen would have to survive on his own if he didn't want Nekoda's help.

* * *

(Eragon POV)

Most of the dead were gone when dawn arrived. Those of the draugr who still remained alive burst into ashes once the sunlight touched them.

Several of the villagers were wounded, but any trivial wounds would heal with the sun. Eragon advised the magicians to use the 'True Fire', as they dubbed it. "The words are ' **Brisingr Helheim** '. "First think of those you wish to protect, and all whom you love, before you cast it. The flames will be stronger."

In places where there were already 'True Fires' burning, Eragon, with the help of Murtagh and any magician who was available, gathered the small fire pockets, and made a large hearth in the center. All those who were wounded were brought to gather around the fire.

"Also bask in the sun as much as you can," Eragon advised each and every one of them. "And remember your family and friends, everyone you have ever loved. It will help."

Others, Eragon saw were too wounded to live through the winter. If it was the summer, yes, they would have had a chance. But as it was winter…such casualties were ten people.

"Eragon!" Norfavrell, with the twins running behind him, looked a little pale with fright, but a quick scan with his eyes told Eragon all three children were fine.

"How are you?" He asked them. The screams of the draugr and the living were never easy to listen to, even for grown men and women. He let another magician take the place of the woman he was currently healing.

"We…we're okay," Norfavrell said, looking at the ground. In a quieter voice, he added "My dragon went to find Saphira and the others."

"Good, she'll be safe with them. In the meantime, Norfavrell, check to see our horses are saddle. Evander, and Selena help out where you can. _And_ ," he emphasized the last word as the three turned around "Daggers, please."

"But what if we need protection?" Selena protested.

"There are plenty of other weapons you may have." The three grudging handed over the Rider weapons, before running off. He attached the daggers to his belt.

"My lord!" Trevor called out. Eragon turned towards the voice of the village head.

Trevor stopped a few feet in front of him. There as a gash on his head, quickly healing from the warmth of the sun. Still, Eragon inspected it. "What is it?"

The village head hesitated. "Will you stay for a few days?" He finally asked.

"Even if they come back, you'll be protected." Eragon replied, also answering the unasked question he heard. "Keep this fire in the town square burning for as long as you can. It will give some protection to the otherworldly." Satisfied with the rate at which the cut on Trevor's head was healing, he took a few steps back.

"Thank-you," Trevor bowed. "But that is not the only reason I asked. Please, considered it as a thank-you for all you have done for us."

Could they afford a few extra days in town? Eragon frowned. Staying here was too dangerous, and yet, seeing the people injured made him all the more determined to stay and help. "I doubt that your village could afford extra mouths to feed. Moreover, the trouble we have caused for your village will be enough for you. We cannot linger any longer." he told the man before him. "We will leave at noon. But I thank you for your offer." Trevor bowed again, and left.

* * *

(Elva POV)

Lady Elva held the mystery of the king, but had no more power than a lower noble. After all, she was not born from nobility, as far as anyone was concerned. But how she was able to gain such vast wealth in such a short time was not a mystery. Many noblemen, and even a few noblewomen, were given pleasure in exchange for silence and money.

And, a secret which Lady Elva doesn't reveal, information is leaked from even the most tight-mouthed noble. Knowledge is a dangerous tool, and she would stoop as low as she could to obtain it.

Her couch travelled through the streets of the Upper Ring, heading towards the edge, towards her large mansion as the sun began to rise. She had spent the previous night as a guest of a lord, whose travails to make her his mistress failed once again. Her newly purchased slaves trailed behind the coach.

Once inside her home, she sent out orders for her head slave. "Tenrid, see to it that the newly arrived are acquainted with the house. But once the boy, who replaced your son, is cleaned, send him to me."

"Of course," Tenrid bowed, and hurried his family and the boy away.

Elva hurried to her chambers, turning away all her servants, and seeking solitude. The boy was young, yes, but he was fourteen years old; a man in two years, but already a man in body. Well, almost. But the information she needed could still be obtained.

What would charm a young boy? Why, play to his fantasies, of course. Men, especially noblemen, were so frightening simple when it came to extracting information. She wore her most revealing clothes, her breast bulging out of the top of her corset. Her underskirt was slim, designed to encase her hips, revealing them. Her overdress was a flimsy thing, completely see-through.

She waited, sitting in front of her dressing mirror.

What information did she need from her? Information to satisfy her curiosity. The boy was to be a Dragon Rider, but for whom? The fledging New Order with no chances of survival, or the powerful Empire which would eventually destroy the land?

Curiosity may kill the cat, but satisfaction will bring it back.

There was a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" she called out, knowing perfectly well who it was.

"You call for me, ma'am?" the boy's voice called out.

"Yes, enter." She heard him enter the room. Elva smiled to herself.

She stood up, slowly, carefully, every movement of her body in complete control. She saw his face turn red, and he averted his eyes.

"There's no need to be shy," she kept her voice soft, walking towards her small breakfast table with soft, measured steps. She picked up a glass decanter with her special wine, and poured out a glass. It was only for the very special occasions. "Please, take a seat on the sofa, the one with only one arm."

She turned around, smiling at the flustered boy who sat stiffly in the middle of the sofa. Elva walked over to him, and handed him the glass "Drink," she told him.

The boy took one hesitant sip, before he took the next one more confidently. He handed it over to her when the cup was half-empty. Elva finished the rest of the wine, before sitting right next to him. The power from the spells imbedded in the wine rushed through her veins. She shivered.

Elva placed the cup on the floor, and sat right next to the boy. She wrapped one arm around his shoulders, stretching her mind towards his unsuspecting one, "What's your name, boy," she whispered into his right ear. She sent her thoughts to drift among his, tugging on certain emotions and feelings she needed in order to find her answer.

"J-Jarsha, my lady," the boy replied.

"And Jarsha," she trailed a finger along the edge of his jaw. "Were you always a slave? Were you born a slave?"

"Y-yes, my lady," the boy answered.

"Hmm. Don't you think it's too hot in here?"

The spells in the wine wouldn't force the boy to speak answers he didn't even believe in. If he hated the king, he couldn't answer yes to a question asking him if he loved the king.

"Yes, my lady," he replied.

"I thought so too," she pulled away from him. She held both of his hands, and stood up. "Why don't you undress?" She pulled him upright, her mind focused on the boy's lustful feelings aimed at her, heightening them, but not too much. The answers she sought could easily be obscured.

Jarsha stripped down to his naked self almost immediately. Elva spread out her arms "Help me," she ordered him. He slid off her outer gown, and she planted tiny little thoughts, just little attachments to the ones he already have, to help him undo her corset and her skirt. Once she was naked, Elva grabbed him by the wrist, and led him over to the couch. She pushed him down onto it, gently. He lay on the couch. In his mind, she could feel fear, nervousness, but also an overwhelming sense of lust.

"It's alright," she cooed, straddling him. She leaned over, "It's okay. Let me teach you."

Using magic, and the tiny, temporary bond she created by attaching tiny tendrils of their thoughts together, she lulled him to a light-sleep, a dream-state. But his bodily senses were not completely deprived of his control, as limited as she made it to be.

She stroked his length, watching it spring up. "That's it, Jarsha," she whispered. "I am not here to harm you. I am here to give you pleasure. Trust me." She repeated the words in the ancient language, knowing he would subconsciously understand.

When she deemed him ready, both in body and in mind, she lowered herself onto him, and gave herself a moment to adjust. Then, Elva began to slowly heave herself up and down, now heightening every sense in his body. She soon let herself focus on her body, so that the two of them would be able to reach their climax that the same time. When she felt their time approaching, she began to chant in the ancient language.

The rhythm and speed at which she spoke depended on their bodies. The closer their climax came, the faster she spoke.

When the time came, so did the visions.

 _Blood and sweat everywhere…the cries of dying men._

 _Roars of dragons, black blade piercing the flesh of men_

 _At the sound of a roar, the vision turned upward, as if she were moving her head. A great black-_

"NO!" Jarsha's scream pulled her out of her visions.

The boy pushed her off, sending her tumbling onto the floor. He jumped up from the couch, and leapt towards the doorway. Elva grabbed the cup from which she drank wine, and threw it at the boy. It hit him right on the back of the head, and he collapsed onto the floor.

She lay there, gasping for breath, wondering where she had gone wrong. So yes, he was to be a Rider! What good did that do, other than give her confirmation about the information she already had? And sure, she learned he was a black Rider, but a Rider for whom? FOR WHOM?

She screamed, hitting the floor with her clenched fist. She could hear footsteps hurrying to her door.

"Stay outside," she snapped "No one is to enter, or I will kill them and it will not be an easy death!"

The footsteps halted at her door.

Having recovered her breath for a little bit, she heaved herself off the floor, towards the unconscious Jarsha. Elva dragged him to her bed, pulled back the covers, and laid him there.

His clothes she folded and placed on the end of the couch, so it would stay clean. Her own clothes she tossed out into the corner pile, where her maid would later come, pick them up and wash them. She trudged over to her bed, and laid herself next to Jarsha. She first checked his wound. It wasn't anything too serious, and she still had strength enough to cast a spell to prevent any further damage. Once that was finished, she laid down in bed.

"I'm not to be disturbed until noon!" Elva shouted. Only when she heard footsteps fading away did she finally relax, throwing the covers over herself and Jarsha.

She turned to face the boy "Whose Rider are you?" she whispered.


	11. Metamorphous: Rights

**Okay, okay, I'm sorry for making this late! And yes, this chapter is short. However, good news! During all that time I haven't been writing, I have been thinking of the future of this story! It's going to be awesome, I promise!**

 **That said, I actually need your help. If anyone is willing to help me out, to just hear me bounce out my ideas about this story, that'd be great! And I'll definitely give you credit for any new ideas you guys give me!**

 **Part of the reason I'm uploading a short chapter is because I didn't want you guys to wait any longer. Thanks for your support guys!**

 **P.S There's a poll on my profile! It was just a random, impulsive idea I got, and I just wanted to see how you guys would react to it. Please vote!**

* * *

Chapter Nine: Metamorphous: Rights

(Garrow POV)

It had been a little over two weeks since the twins left the Valley, and about twelve days since Janus informed him of his promotion. His announcement the next day had turned safe, comforting world of Carvahalll upside down. No doubt the villagers disapproved what was happening, but how could anyone change it? They were all ants underneath the king's boot.

Once Janus had made his announcement the day after he stayed in Garrow's home, construction began immediately. A crowd of architects, masons and other skilled craftsmen had been trailing Janus and company, meaning there had been no chance for Garrow to decline. Among them included magicians, who were ordered to clear the snow from whatever area Garrow chose to build his castle on; in other words, the large hill he had often seen Roran and his cousins play on. Ironically enough, they had played castle there when they were younger.

Janus had also given him the reigns on what materials would be used (he ended up going with a combination of brick and wood). As for the size of the house, there was still some debate on that. Garrow didn't want it to be too big; he wanted to get rid of the presence of the Empire as soon as he could. Janus wanted to build a large castle, one which would take several years to build. In the end, however, Garrow's word over rode his.

"It's not my house, or castle for that matter," Janus had stated, holding his arms up in defeat. The 'castle' would be a very large house, larger than anything in Carvahall, and would be styled as a manor. There would be a total of four floors in all, with an attic. Included was a study, a dining hall, a kitchen, several bedrooms up on the fourth floor, as well as a ball room and several other useless rooms Garrow didn't want. Of course, most of them were Marian's idea, and he did have little power of what his wife wanted. Janus, on the other hand, seemed to be delighted. The bastard. Garrow wondered if it was revenge for some of the intense training he had forced Janus to go through when the latter had been an apprentice.

Now, Garrow stood in the middle of the construction site. In roughly six months it would be finished, and it was all due to the aid of magic. While his shrunken family stayed behind on the farm, he slept alongside the workers, wanting to keep a close eye on everything.

As for Janus himself, he set himself up in the tavern, with the soldiers he brought with him just outside of the village. Rumors spread about how one of the princes, perhaps Nekoda, would be heading up to crown Garrow Earl of Palancar Valley; he shuddered. He didn't know which prince was Eragon's son, but he couldn't bare meeting either of them.

He was in the process of overseeing the frame work of the castle when Roran showed up. His son came riding on a horse, and had held a sack, no doubt filled with food from Marian. He handed the papers off to the architect, then went to acknowledge his son.

"Roran," Garrow greeted "I thought I told your mother I would be fine with the food served here."

"Lord Janus insisted, and mother couldn't disagree with him."

The two went to sit down on an empty bench, reserved especially for Garrow and his own. Another worker came to look after their horse at Garrow's order. Roran shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

"Our family, my side at least, has a long history of command," Garrow told his eldest, and technically only, child, between bits of the chicken Marian had made for him.

"Who is your side of the family?" Roran questioned. Lowering his voice, he continued to ask "Everyone in the village is curious about just what you did for the king. They are still wondering why you asked them to keep quiet about Gertrude's relatives."

Well, it would be rather difficult to explain their true identity, now, wouldn't it? "Not now," Garrow mumbled "But later, when the castle is completed. That way, there will be quiet walls."

He could see Roran clench his fists "Father-"

"That's the end of it," Garrow said firmly. "It's dangerous to talk about them, especially in front of the King's men."

Roran snorted, crossing his arms. Finishing his chicken, Garrow tossed the bone on the ground, and crushed it with his feet, burying it the snow. "What I taught you all throughout your life, you must remember. I had learned it the hard way, Roran, which is why I tell you hard work and dedication is better than having everything handed to you."

"You're still mad at me for not taking the job at Therinsford," Roran said, amazed. His son had the chance to work at a mill in the village a few days from Carvahall, but opted not to.

Garrow grunted, biting into another chicken. "What's being built now is just the products of my hard work. If you want to marry Katrina, you'd have to show her you can provide for her on your own."

Roran's cheeks turned red. "Father, I," he stopped, searching for the right words. Garrow let him take his time, but didn't sit around to wait. Finishing the food Marian had cooked for him, he handed the sack back to Roran, and resumed his duty of overlooking the castle's work. There were still plenty to be done.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Roran walk up to him. "Let me help by building the castle," Roran said.

Garrow refused him outright "You haven't earned the title of earldom; that belongs to me. I have raised you to be a farmer, and a farmer you will be. Go now; don't you have a farm to take care of?"

The bewildered expression on his son's face nearly made him laugh "You mean to say that the farm belongs to me now?"

Garrow snorted; what was he, deaf? "You heard me," the former Rider grunted. "It's all yours. And when this hall is finished, you and your bride by then, Katrina, along with your mother, may join. But you will keep to the farm, and tend to it well. I can take care of the administration duties by myself. If you face any trouble, however, call for me, and I will help you."

He turned to face his son as he spoke the last few words, and was greeted by a warm hug "Thank-you," Roran mumbled. Garrow snorted, and slapped his son on the back.

"Go back to the farm, and tell your mother what I've said. I have work I still need to do."

(Norfavrell POV)

In the month after they had left Daret, Norfavrell had never been as exhausted as he was that night. He plopped down at the edge of camp, away from all the fire. His brown dragon, whose head was level with his, sat down next to him, equally exhausted from her flying lessons.

"They pushed you too, huh," he muttered, rubbing her head. She yawned, curling up next to him.

For the past three weeks Eragon and Murtagh had been pushing him to learn how to fight, as well as the history of the Dragon Riders. Selena and Evander-it was weird too call them that but those names suited them better-had gone through the same training as he did, for the most part. There were some lessons Eragon and Murtagh reserved just for him, being a Dragon Rider and all.

Sword-fighting, history, and mental exercises, were the three topics the three of them had undergone. History lessons would take place when they rode on horseback during the day. Mental exercises and sword-fighting would take place when they've stopped for the night. Even Selena was encouraged to take part, which she did so with pride. Afterwards, Eragon or Murtagh would call them around the campfire, and tell them stories of a time before the Fall of the Order. Sometimes, he was able to stay awake and listen to them all. Other times, he fell asleep half-way, curled up against his dragon.

"Norfavrell!" Evander shouted. His speech seemed to improve a bit, though there still the occasional stutter. Somehow, Eragon had found time to heal his son's disability.

The young Rider stood up, and dragged himself over to the fire place. Murtagh handed him a bowl of stew, which Selena and Eragon had cooked earlier. His stomach suddenly growled, and he ended up ravishing all of it.

"Second's?" Murtagh asked, amused.

"Please," he held out his bowl, and this time savored the stew.

"Right," Eragon said. Norfavrell looked up to see everyone had finally settled down, huddled around the fire place. "What do you want to hear about now?"

There was a silence for a few minutes, before Evander asked in a quiet voice "C-can you tell u-us about o-our m-mother?"

No one spoke for a few moments. Norfavrell leaned over, curious as well. His dragon sent a tendril of through towards his mind, a questioning thought wondering what was going on. He explained that the twins were asking about their mother, using images of Saphira to explain what he meant, and how the twins felt. His dragon yelped, and quickly ran over to her mother, sending him thoughts that she was glad she knew her mother. He chuckled at her antics, though the fact that Saphira, a huge beast (intelligent beast, he was soon corrected), would be able to give birth so someone as small and frail as his dragon.

"What was she like?" Selena wondered.

Eragon chuckled "I told you, she is an elf. The most beautiful of all, at least in my opinion."

"What a-are elves like?" Evander interjected.

"Now there's a long answer," Eragon rested his elbows on his knee. "First, you should know that Elves, humans, and Urgals are not native to this land. Only the dwarves, the dragons, and the werecats can claim such a right."

"What do you mean?" Norfavrell asked, curious. "We've always lived in the Valley!"

"That valley is old, Norfavrell," Murtagh spoke up "And its history is vast"

"Another time," Eragon continued his tale. He spoke of how the elves had come over the sea, from a land they call Alalëa, and how one foolish elf had started-"

"You told us all of this before," Selena interrupted, impatient. "Tell us about our mother!"

"Elves are c-called Fair Folk," Evander added "Why?"

Eragon sighed, and Murtagh roared with laughter. Something must have happened between them mentally because Eragon punched Murtagh in the arm, which only made the Red Rider laugh all the more.

"Shut-up," Eragon mumbled "We need to be quiet."

Murtagh stopped almost immediately, but still let out a chuckle or two.

"First, I'll tell you why the Elves are called Fair Folk," Eragon held up a finger. He put up another finger "Then, I'll tell you about your mother."

The twins sighed, glanced at each other, and then nodded at Eragon, who then cleared his throat. "Right. Elves are called Fair Folk because they are the most graceful of creatures to have ever roamed the land." All three of the larges dragons, with Norfavrell's dragon joining in, growled. "With the exception of the dragons, of course," Eragon quickly amended.

"And they are stronger than any man. Even a weakened elf could defeat ten, strong, trained men with ease."

"What about the Riders," Norfavrell chimed in, "Were they stronger than the Riders?"

Both of the older Riders stared at him, their expressions incomprehensible.

"No," Murtagh answered, his voice quiet and soft "They weren't stronger, because they would never dare to attack a Dragon Rider."

A cackling of the fire was the only noise for a few moments, before Eragon started to speak again. "Now your mother, when I first met her, it wasn't because of her beauty. No, by then I had seen many elves, and was used to their appearance, which would normally have hindered any man. What drew me to her was…" he hesitated, as if he was about to spill a secret. He sighed "What drew me to her was her dedication to her duty. She was strong and passionate, yet wise and gentle."

He smiled, and Norfavrell thought it looked like the wise, faraway gaze that he'd seen on many old men in Carvahall. ' _But, he is_ old _,'_ he realized. ' _Especially since he had lived long before Galbatorix became king._ ' His dragon had crawled back towards him, and sat behind him. He leaned against her, his left hand resting on her head. He decided to ask Eragon how long he had lived, and if all Dragon Riders lived that long. But later, not now. He shared his thoughts with his dragon. She lifted her head to look at Eragon. The Blue Rider stared back, smiling softly.

She suddenly jerked her head back. An image popped into Norfavrell's head, a fuzzy image with a blue dragon's head.

' _Long,'_ a voice said in his mind.

Norfavrell tensed, wondering if an intruder had broken his mental defenses. But…it didn't feel like it was an intruder.

He turned in astonishment towards his brown dragon. Again, the thought pushed into his head, ' _Long time_.'

The words echoed in his mind, sending shiver up his spine. ' _That was you!'_ he exclaimed. He was grinning at his dragon.

She sent in a thought, a response to the joy he had sent over their mental connection ' _Proud?_ '

' _Very proud,'_ he grinned, rubbing her head behind the tiny earhole. She guttered, a low, rumbling sound telling him she was happy.

A tiny rock hit him on the shoulder. Norfavrell looked up to finding Murtagh smiling at him. "Well?" the red Rider prompted. "Care to share with the rest of the class?" He then realized that everyone else was staring at him. Though the three dragons, of course, seemed to be disinterested. He wondered if they were listening though.

' _Tell, you proud me_ , _'_ his brown dragon nudged him.

"She spoke," Norfavrell grinned "Her first word was 'long'!"

"Long?" Selena questioned.

"Why was it 'long'?" Evander asked.

Norfavrell shrugged, and told him how he was wondering about how old Eragon was, since he had to have lived from before the Fall of the Dragon Riders. He explained how he told his dragon, and how he received a fuzzy image, along with her first word ' _long'_.

"How long did you live, Father?" Selena asked.

Eragon just smiled at them. "Go to sleep," he said "It's been a long time, and you're all tired. My life is a story for another time."

Almost at once, Norfavrell remembered just how tired he had been. His arms and legs ached from the intense training done just before dinner. He somehow managed to crawl over to his bedroll, and collapsed on it. His dragon, curled up next to him.

"Goodnight," he whispered to her. He could hear the others getting ready for bed.

' _Goodnight…Nor…fa…vrell.'_


	12. CHAPTER AND IMPORTANT AN

**Hey guys!**

 **Sorry for the last update! Also, shitty news…**

 **I currently have four ongoing stories (oops). I can't keep up with all of them, for a few reasons. One, I tend to over think and I need things to be good in my books. That's a lot of work for four stories. Two, I have other summer things to work on, like studying abroad and working on a project which can get me an internship at a very good company. And three, I can't handle. Like, me, as a person, can't handle all these stories. I mean, I still come up with new fanfiction ideas…sheesh…(I take note of these, but won't write them just yet!)**

 **So, I currently have a pole up as to which story I should continue. Each person can vote for two stories. The one with the most votes by May 22nd will be the one I will continue to write. I'm really sorry for this, guys. Please enjoy my ideas for the next chapter.**

 **From,**

 **Airmage.**

* * *

Chapter Ten: Metamorphosis-Fight for them!

(Selena POV)

 _Tall ships lay anchored on the same port. Three of them were smaller than the others. A massive group of people, led by a bearded man with a hammer in one hand and a lilac sword on his waist. A woman stood a little behind him, and behind them was the crowd. The crowd started to board the ship. The bearded man stood on shore, watching them with a careful eye._

 _The ship in the middle was large and grand, flanked by a small boat on its right. She could see a man and a woman sparing, a mad laughter ringing out as they dueled. The laughter sent shivers up her spines, and she couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. Two cloaked figures stood on top of the small boat, staring at the scene on the grand ship._

 _There were three other ships at the end. She watched as a procession of several people marched slowly towards them. Though some of them were cloaked, she could make out men and women, and beautiful figures she felt to be elves. She saw short people and tall horned people; dwarves and Urgals!_

" _You!" A voice shouted at her. She turned around to find a man staring at her, eyes a vivid green, long brown hair reaching his eyebrows. There stood another man next to him, similar features, but with brown eyes and black hair. "Who are you?" he demanded. The brown-eyed man stared curiously at her. Both of them looked a few years older than Roran._

" _How dare you!" she yelled out him, her voice speaking without her permission. "I have as much of a right to be here as you do!" The man marched towards her, clad in worn-out clothes, as if he couldn't afford better. But loud roars interrupted his march._

 _Selena looked up to find several dragons flying high above them, twisting in midair, performing and ancient dance._

" _They're real dragons," she heard a different voice say. "Not-"_

"Ria!" a loud whisper and a pair of hands shaking her woke her from her dreams.

"Wha-Ri!" She pulled her blanket around her, cold. It was still dark out, and she could make out the image of her brother's face in a strange blue light. ' _There's no fire._ ' She realized, shivering.

"Shh!" her brother placed a finger on his lips. "We n-need to l-leave. F-father says there's trouble."

Selena tossed the blanket off her, and began to roll up her sleeping bed. But her mind lingered on her dream. ' _It was going to tell me something,'_ she realized. _'I would have known if Evander hadn't interrupted me.'_

There was small blue light glowing low right above where the fireplace used to be. Everyone was occupied at one task or other. Selena handed her bedroll to her father (it still sent a strange shiver up her spine when she thought of him as such).

"On the horses, now," Her father mumbled. "Stay quiet, all of you, don't make a noise, and keep your mental barriers up. Don't let anyone it unless you know for sure it's one of us."

Selena hoisted herself onto the horse, and Evander propped himself up behind her. The blue light was extinguished, and two torches were lit up, carried by her father and uncle. Almost immediately, the horses fell into formation, without any prompting. The pack horse was in the middle, with her and Evander on one side and Norfavrell on the other. Her father was in the front, and her uncle in the back. She wondered where Norfavrell's dragon had gone, and presumed she left to join the other dragons, who generally flew far away from the company. As a matter of fact, Selena could count on one hand just how many times she had seen the dragons.

No one said a word, and the horses' hooves were quiet on the grass. It had been week since they entered the grassy plains in the middle of the Empire, and the size of it still amazed her. They avoided all the roads, and only went into town for news or for supplies.

A mind touched hers and she panicked before realizing it was her brother's. Out of the three children present, she was the only one who couldn't touch the minds of others. Her uncle told her it was rather common and perhaps she could develop those skills later on, but it still bothered her, if only a little.

' _Ri, what's going on?_ ' she asked.

' _I'm not sure. All Father told me was to tell you and Norfavrell that we were being watched, and if he or Uncle says to run, run. The horses will take us to the dragons, who would then guide us to Lord and Lady Tyler's place.'_

He withdrew before she could ask any questions.

' _Helpful,_ ' she thought, wrapping her arms around herself.

The night was oddly silent, not even a whisper of the wind. Selena tensed; the air was much colder now, but it was a different kind of cold…the kind of cold she felt when the draugr attacked Daret.

She tried not to gasp, and elbowed her brother, trying to get his attention. He hissed, and when his mind touched hers she let him in.

' _What is it?_ ' he asked, irritated.

' _I think it's the draugr,'_ she admitted, her voice sounding scared even to her. Evander stiffened.

' _Why?_ '

' _Because of that chill! Don't you feel it? Something's wrong._ '

' _Do you think I should tell Father?'_

' _Maybe…that sounds like a good idea.'_

She felt her mind leave his, returning back a few moments later. ' _He said it was something of the sort._ '

' _Oh_ ,' as Evander once again pulled his mind out of her's, she felt her stomach clutch. ' _Oh gods, what's going on!_ '

They continued to travel in silence for a good few hours. Her fear gave way to sleep, and she started to nod her head just as the sun began to rise.

"We'll stop here for now," Eragon said, and almost at once the company stopped.

"Gulnitha," Nori spoke up suddenly. Everyone froze. Murtagh even turned his horse around to face him.

He blushed at the sudden attention. "That's uh, that's her name." he explained. "That's my dragon's name. And she really wants to come down."

"Huh," Selena commented, followed by a large yawn. She ignored the rest of the conversation as she leaned on horse, burying her face in its mane. "Wake me up when we're getting down," she mumbled. She thought she heard her brother laugh, but ignored it. When she need her sleep, she needed it!

(Eragon POV)

He spared a glance at his daughter as she laid herself on the horse, and started to drift off. "You said Gulnitha wants to see you?" he questioned "Then we'll head over closer to the Spine. She will be able to


	13. The Glenworth Manor

**I named the dragon Gulnitha, and honestly, I'm up for suggestions. It's a brown dragon with tints of orange in the scales. I imagine the eyes to be cinnamon colored, and wanted a name to be surrounded around that. So my suggestion is: Cassia (the name of the tree from which most of the cinnamon in international commerce is derived from). Idk if it sounds dragon-like.**

 **Also, sorry for the delay. I lost my flash drive several times, and my mom told me to get a job and practice driving so yeah…that took up some time…**

 **Also, I'll be in AnimeNext for the next four days! It doesn't start until the day after, true, but my friends and I are heading there early for preregistration.**

* * *

Chapter Ten: The Glenworth Manor

 _On a tall, odd hill sticking out of the earth, shone three sparks of light._

' _Diamond tombs,' she realized._

 _The brightness grew until it turned into a river, and she found herself wading waist-deep in clear waters. She looked ahead, and across a pebbled beach, on a river with waters as clear as the one she was standing in, were three ships, anchored in the same port. A bearded man, tall and muscular, stood a little way off from them, staring at the port intently. He wore grand clothes, fit for a noble, or even a king, with a golden crown on his head. A hammer, a simple black smith's hammer, hung by his side, and a lilac sword nailed his clock onto the beach._

 _A strange crowd of humans, elves, dwarves, Urgals, cats, and short-cat people stared at the ships. She followed their gazes to the ships. The one in the middle was the largest of them all, and there were sailors aboard, all frozen. Two people, a man and a woman, dueled on the ship. The largest, golden sail was open, and had a white sword stitched onto it._

 _The ship to the right of the grand one was smaller, and had a shimmering, turquoise sword etched onto its open sail. A small fight between a woman (the same one from the grand ship, she realized), and two men was happening. A large dragon soared high above, flying in circles, waiting for an answer, she felt. She couldn't tell what color it was._

 _The third and final ship, left of the grand ship, was the most barren of them all. It didn't even have any sails, only a diamond coffin in the center. Two men, one she recognized from the fight on the turquoise-sail ship, roamed about the top. The man she recognized seemed to be staring at the coffin, while the other man seemed to be trying to get out. But each time he attempted to leave the ship, he was thrown back towards the coffin._

 _She jumped when she felt someone on either side of her, then scrambled out of the waters, and turned back._

 _She'd been standing in a lake, was the first thing she noticed. Then she saw two nearly identical men; the only difference was their hair and eye color; one had black and green, while the other had brown and brown._

" _You're new," the green-eyed man took a step forward. "Who are you?"_

" _My name is Adrianna," she told them. "Who are you? What is this?"_

 _The man stared at her for a moment, before replying "My name is Freyr."_

" _Freyr?" she repeated, "Like the prince?"_

 _He hesitated, then said "Yes. I am one of the princes."_

 _Then the other man must be Nekoda, his twin, she reasoned. 'The sons of Galbatorix,' a chill ran up her spine. What she did next surprised her._

" _How dare you?" she roared, taking a step closer to him. Anger burst inside of her. "I have as much of a right as you do! I have shed blood, sweat, and tears for the innocent people who are slaughtered!"_

 _Freyr scowled "What the hell are you talking about, little girl?"_

 _Several loud roars caught their attention. Selena looked up, and saw a battle between dragons, and creatures that looked like dragons. They were fighting in midair, and great drops of blood flew from the sky. One landed right by her, and she shivered as some blood splattered onto her._

" _Dragons!" exclaimed Freyr, "Actual dragons! Not like-"_

"Ria!"

Her cheek stung, and a pair of worried brown eyes stared at her. "Are you okay?" Evander whispered.

"I had the weirdest dream," she said, sitting up. The campsite seemed to be shrouded in a strange blue light. And she felt cold. "What happened to the fire?"

"Shh!" Evander placed a finger to his lips. "We're leaving. Father says thuh-there's trouble." His stammering had improved greatly while on the run, though it still felt a little weird to hear him speaking out loud without stuttering so much.

Selena tossed her blanket off, and began to roll up her sleeping bed. But her mind continued to linger on her dream. _'It felt like…it felt like something was going to happen,'_ she mused, handing her bedroll to her uncle. _'And Prince Freyr…he was going to tell me something…I wonder-'_

"Selena," her father's voice broke her musings. "Hurry, we need to leave now."

"Yes, father," Calling him 'father' still sent a shiver up her spine. It felt so weird, after calling Garrow, her uncle, father and now calling someone who should have been a complete stranger to her, but isn't…it felt weird, but somehow, it felt right.

Selena hoisted herself onto the horse, right behind Evander. She took one last look at the campsite; it was as if they hadn't been there at all. There was no fire pit, no footprints of any kind. A small blue orb shrunk in size, and then vanished completely.

' _If it was cleaned by magic,'_ she thought, _'Shouldn't I have been able to have seen something?'_

The horses walked into formation. The pack horse was in the middle, with her and Evander on one side and Norfavrell on the other. She held onto Evander as the horse moved forward. Starlight provided a little light in the night, and she could still see vast, grassy plains they had entered just three weeks ago. The size of it still amazed her; grass as far as the eye could see, though they kept the Spine in sight. It served as a marker and told them where they were going. They kept off the roads, hunted or ate local shrubbery for food. They only went into town if the need demanded it, and only then it was for news, and some supplies they couldn't make themselves.

The night was silent, too silent, Selena realized, as they rode on. There weren't any sounds of crickets, or owls. Just a faint breeze in the air, blowing over the grass, and the faint sound of dragon wings beating overhead. Far off to their left was the Woadark Lake, her father told them. During the age of the Dragon riders, it used to be a trading posting for the coastal areas and the rest of the Empire. Now, it was just an empty lake.

Selena looked up, and saw Norfavrell's dragon, whose name was Gulnitha, flying high above, along with the other dragons.

A mind touched hers, and she panicked for a moment before realizing it was her father's. _'What is it? What's going on?'_ She asked, lowering her mental barriers. The two Riders trained all three children in putting up defenses in their mind.

' _We're being watched. If myself or Murtagh say to run, run. The horses will take you to the dragons, who'll then guide you to where we need to go in Teirm. Keep your mental barriers up, and don't let anyone you don't know enter your mind.'_ He withdrew without saying another word.

Selena placed her chin on her brother's shoulder, already tired and wanting to sleep.

But the air turned colder, and she shivered. She faced colder winters up in Carvahall, but there was a lifeless chill to this one, no different than the one she felt when they fought the draugr.

' _I wonder if Ri knows what's going on,_ ' she wondered. She was decent at putting up mental barriers around her mind, but it was another story all together to reach out into someone else's mind. She poked her brother in his side. Evander tensed, and she felt a tiny tendril of his mind gently prodding at hers. He'd gotten much better at controlling his mind; she was proud of him.

She let him in. _'What is it?'_ he asked, curious.

' _I think it's the draugr,'_ she replied, tightening her grip on him.

She felt his stiffened. _'Why?'_

' _Because of the chill! Don't you feel it? Something's not right.'_

He hesitated, _'Do you think we should tell Father?'_

' _I think…I think he and Uncle might already know.'_

' _Probably,'_ he withdrew from her mind.

The horses suddenly halted. Fear clouded Selena's mind, _'No!'_

Then her father commanded "Run."

Evander flicked the reins of the horse, and it darted off to the side, heading towards the Spine, she realized. She sensed the pack horse next to them, and perhaps it was Nori on its other side.

' _What's attacking them?'_ she shivered. _'It could be the draugr…they fought them off before. They'll be fine.'_

They kept riding through the night, even after the dawn arrived, and well into the morning.

It was only when Selena heard the thundering wings of the dragon did the horses stop. All four dragons landed a little way ahead of them, right at the edge of the Spine. Gulnitha walked toward her Rider. The three horses tried to run away, before Nori cried out " **Gulnitha er fricai! Älfrinn weohnata néiat haina ono!** "

She couldn't fully translate what he said; Norfavrell seemed to have a talent for picking up other languages, but she knew the gist of it. The horses calmed.

Nori got down from his horse; Selena and Evander did the same. He led his horse and the pack horse towards the dragons. She and her brother took their horse and followed close behind. They stopped when the horses became too skittish to stand still.

Nori first hugged his dragon, who wrapped herself around him, before turning his attention to the great sapphire dragon standing before them. "Are they going to be okay?" Nori asked her. Saphira was her name, Selena recalled.

A great mind touched hers, gently brushing aside her mental barriers. Selena shivered as a deep and ancient voice replied _'They will be fine, but it seems that they have been a bit delayed. You are to head straight to the Manor of Lord Tyler. Remember, only Lord Tyler, Lady Elizabeth, and their son, Percival, know your true identity. All others on the Manor only know that three children of Varden spies are being sheltered here.'_

"Okay," Nori said, his voice quavering. Gulnitha gently bumped her head against his cheek. Saphira's head turned toward Nori, and whatever she said made him relax; his shoulders slumped in relief.

"Let's go," Nori climbed on top of his horse. "If we followed along the edge of the Spine, we should be able to reach Lord Tyler's Manor by noon. Eragon told me they were expecting us."

"Can we trust them?" Evander asked, as he mounted the horse.

"Yeah," Nori shrugged, and led the small procession. "I mean, they're Gertrude's parents. And we know what they look like and they know what we look like. So, it's all safe."

A few weeks ago, in a pool of water, Gertrude showed them a mirror holding the images of her parents and her brother. That way, if the two Riders were ever separated from the kids, the kids would be able to gain a safe passage into Lord Tyler's Estates.

Gulnitha dutifully walked alongside of them. "Your dragon's walking with us, now," Selena commented, excited.

"Yeah," Nori grinned. "We're both pretty happy about it. But…she can only stay until we catch sight of the Manor, then, she has to leave."

By noon, they saw a large man riding out to meet them. Gulnitha quickly flew off.

The man was a large, muscular man with a brown beard, and a sword on his hip. He wore a friendly smile, and was adorned in garments finer than any she had ever seen, save for those she dreamed of.

"Woo, there," he stopped a few feet before them. "It's strange to see three children riding all alone."

Norfavrell hesitated, and then asked "Who are you?"

The man smiled. "I'm Percival, son of Lord Tyler and Lady Elizabeth, and younger brother to Gertrude."

He looked like Gertrude, Selena thought, with his stern face, yet kind eyes. But still, Nori hesitated, "How do we know you're telling the truth?"

He laughed "You saw my face in the mirror, didn't you? Remember, I said 'Glunitha' was a horrible name for a dragon, and your dragon growled at me, issuing a challenge, I believe."

Nori still hesitated.

"Nori," Selena whined, tired, and hungry from the long journey. "No one else could know that!"

Nori pressed his lips together. "I'm supposed to look after the two of you," he explained. To the man who claimed he was Percival, he asked again, "How do we know you are Percival?"

The man stared at Nori for a few moments, before nodding and smiling. Selena felt they had passed some sort of test. " **Eka eddyr Percival. Eka eddyr aí vard abr du Shur'tugalar un theirra fricais.** "

It was the passcode her father and uncle had drilled into their heads every chance they got. Only those who would aim to help the New Order and their allies, can say it. Father told them that they first had to swore an oath to only use this as a communication 'among friends and allies', before they were told.

It seemed to satisfy Nori. "Okay," the young Rider flicked his horse, but Percival stopped him.

"Now, it's my turn," He raised an eyebrow. "Are you who you say you are?"

Nori nodded, pulled out a piece of parchment, and handed it to Percival. The man looked it over, and returned it.

"Now that's all-in order, come! Let's go! You have a nice bath and a meal waiting for all of you!"

"It was a good thing Nori thought to ask," Selena whispered, as the small group made their way towards the Manor.

Evander nodded. "It's b-because he's used to w-watching over his siblings."

"So, he thinks of us as his siblings?" Selena smiled, feeling warm at the feeling. Nori was, more often than not, more of a brother to them then Roran had been the past few years.

Riding at a leisurely pace was nice; it calmed her down, though she was still hungry. And tired. "Do you know what's holding up father and uncle?" Selena asked.

Percival didn't even look back as he replied "No, they didn't tell anyone what it was, only that they were being watched."

"Do you think they'll be a-alright?" Evander asked.

"Don't worry," Percival assured them. "They are skilled, and have seen a lot in their lifetime. It'll take more than what they're dealing with to kill them. Their main concern was your safety."

They continued on in silence for a few more minutes, before Nori asked "What's a Manor like?"

Selena listened as Percival talked about his home, Glenworth Manor. It was an entire village surrounded by low wall, and a few farmlands surrounding that. The large house was at the center, with a stone pathway leading up to it. All the people on the village either worked in the house, on the farm, as craftsmen, in the diamond mines (the source of the Manor's wealth) or were people who guarded merchant goods. There was also a tiny little steeple for the religious.

"I can give you a tour later on, if you'd like," Percival offered, just as they entered the farmlands. They walked along a rather narrow path. "You are free to roam the Manor grounds as you please, though be careful when you venture out into the farmlands and mines. Not all eyes are friendly."

The land was empty of crops, though Selena saw one or two people out, looking at the ground. "They're trying to determine how long until we plant," Percival added. "Ah, and there's the gate! Welcome, children, to Glenworth Manor."

* * *

(Evander POV)

There was a tall wall surrounding the Manor and the grounds, and the only thing he could see were pillars of smoke rising from the chimneys. Percival led them around the wall, and towards a tall iron gate.

"Do all Manors have tall walls?" Selena inquired.

"No," Lord Percival answered. "But ours was given a special exception on the grounds that much of the kingdom's diamonds and such are mined here. Our craftsman too, are among the most skilled in the land."

As they approached a tall iron gate, two guards hailed Lord Percival.

"These are the children, lord?" One of them asked, eyeing the three of them with a curious look. Evander looked away, and stared into the village.

"Aye, these are them," Percival answered, and led the party through to the gates.

The village inside was much neater than Carvahall. A stone pathway led from the gates to a tall Manor in the distance. A little away from each side of the road were shops, filled with various goods that he'd only seen when the traders came. Villagers made their way through the stalls, selling and buying goods. He noted how one woman paid for meat with a few coins and a clay pot.

' _They don't have to pay with money,'_ he realized, and wondered just how convenient that would have been for them in Carvahall. _'We had too much things, and not enough money,'_ he thought.

The villagers curtseyed or bowed when the group passed. One old woman clucked her tongue and muttered about how the children needed food.

Percival must have heard, for he laughed and said "And no doubt your chicken soup will fatten them up, Margret."

"Of course, it will!" The old woman, Margret, placed her hands on her hips. A young woman, around Katrina's age, looked rather apologetic. She was holding a basket in her hands. Margret waved a finger at them, and Evander imagined, for a moment, that she was holding ladle in her hand. "Now, my husband's the cook up at the Manor, and he's cooked a nice lunch for you children. Eat well!"

"Y-yes, ma'am," Evander stared at the finger, sure he was a little cross-eyed.

Margret nodded, pleased to hear his words. Then, much to his surprise, Margret curtseyed, as did the young girl next to her. "Well, I've said my piece, my lord. May the gods look upon thee."

Percival bowed his head "And you as well Margret. I look forward to your husband's cooking. Take care, Cara."

The young woman smiled and bowed her head "And you as well, lord. I will be by later for afternoon lessons."

"Good, good," Percival rode off, and Evander made sure he followed right after.

"Who were they?" Nori asked.

"Margret is, as you may have guessed, the cook's wife, and is also a fine cook herself," Percival replied. Villagers shouted greetings at Percival as they rode through. "She used to work in the palace before she began to fall ill. She stays at home now, where her grandchildren now tend to her."

"She looked really healthy to me back there," Nori mumbled. Percival laughed.

As they neared the Manor, Evander could see a large statue with water pouring out of it in the center of a large, stone area. The Manor itself had four floors, and the building was like a square horseshoe, without the ends, and the stone area right in the middle. A small group of people stood at attention by the fountain. Two of them, a young man and woman, wore fancier clothes than the rest, who were probably the servants. The man wore a fine tunic, with brown pants and well-made leather boots. The woman wore a sky-blue, silken dress, threaded in gold. Her sun-colored hair bounced in curls on her shoulders, and her violet eyes shone with laughter.

The young man strode forward. "Welcome back, Father," he greeted.

"Damian," Percival got down from his horse. "I didn't expect to see you!" As one of the servants held his horse, Evander dismounted after Selena.

He shrugged "I was free."

"You mean you bailed on your lessons," the woman probably Percival's daughter, smiled as she kissed her father on each of his cheeks. "Your son is a hard man to keep in line, lord."

 _'Oh, not his daughter,'_ Evander corrected, and for some reason, his stomach felt a little funny.

"Oh, I've been trying all my life," Percival held out a hand towards the children. "There they are then. Norfavrell, and the twins, Adrian and Adrianna. Children, this is my son, Damian, and his betrothed, Lilian."

' _Oh...his betrothed,'_ Adrian couldn't help but feel disappointed.

'Norfavrell' said "It's nice to meet you."

Lilian giggled "It's nice to meet you as well, Norfavrell." She crinkled her nose. "And before the three of you eat, you're going to choose your rooms and take a nice warm bath."

"That sounds heavenly," Selena sighed, now once again Adrianna.

Lilian wrapped an arm around him and his sister. She smelled sweet, though he couldn't tell what the scent was. "Well then, in that case, let's head off, shall we?"

"W-what about o-our stuff?" Adrian asked, slightly embarrassed about his stutter.

"Not to worry," Percival nodded at the servants, who removed the saddle bags and packs from the horses. "The servants will put them in the quarters you'll be staying in. You can sort them out later."

Lilian led them away, with Nori and Damian following behind. "Now, Adrianna, do you have any clean clothes with you? If not, I have a few of my old clothes which may fit you."

"I think so," Selena replied.

"That's good! Adrian?"

"I do too," he replied.

"Good," Lilian led them through the large doorway. "Now, let's get you two cleaned."

* * *

(No One POV)

Freyr stood on the tallest tower on Uru'Baen, and looked out into the Hadarac Desert. The mid-afternoon sun was beaming down on him, but he didn't care for the beads of sweat rolling down his face. All he cared about was the upcoming trials.

Garrow, a man he heard of but had never seen, was becoming the Earl of Palancar Valley. He and Nekoda were required to attend, and win over the favor of the Earl. Whoever won his favor, the king had said, is most likely to become the heir.

 _'What if I don't want to become the heir?'_ he thought, but then dismissed it. Even behind the strong mental barriers he had, it wouldn't do to think such thoughts. Galbatorix always had a way of finding out.

He heard footsteps coming up the stairs, careful, measured. Knowing who it was, he didn't bother to turn around.

"Daddy was upset with me," Nekoda told him, standing right next to him. "I was to destroy the village, but I killed the Dark Magician instead."

"Why'd you do that?" Freyr asked.

Nekoda remained silent.

"Fine, keep your reasons," Freyr spat, but wondered who was he truly angry at, 'Myself, or Father dearest?'

"Lord Garrow is becoming an Earl after his castle is finished," Nekoda said "I'm excited to see Palancar Valley."

"The land of mad old Palancar," Freyr said "I've heard the stories."

"About Garrow or Palancar?"

"Both; but I'm not looking forward to meeting Garrow."

They both heard the propaganda spread among those who were educated and loyal to the king. That Garrow defied the Old Order, killing his own kin, just to stand behind Galbatorix. A hero, among Galbatorix's most loyal subject. But Freyr wondered what loyalty could come from a man who already betrayed the Order he had sworn himself, and his dragon, to.

"Janus is still in Carvahall?" Nekoda asked.

"Yes," Freyr sighed "I don't know when he'll be back. I suppose you'll be pleased."

A weighted stillness settled between the two brothers, choking whatever little peace they felt. "I hope he never returns," Nekoda confessed, voice soft. "Sometimes, he's worse than Daddy."

Freyr turned toward his brother. From a distance, the two looked alike, but up close, Freyr could see the many differences between them. Nekoda's jawline was slightly sharper, for one, and his eyes were not only a different color, but were also a bit rounder. The main difference was the nose. His was slim, while Freyr's was a little larger.

He put a hand on Nekoda's shoulder. "I know," he whispered, unsure of what else to say. What more could be said about monsters, especially as both of their experiences were quiet similar? "I know."


End file.
